There was once a place filled with tiny trees. And underneath the shade of each tree, there lived an iguana. Each tree had... المزيدThere was once a place filled with tiny trees. And underneath the shade of each tree, there lived an iguana. Each tree had an iguana that slept underneath its leaf filled branches every night. But it was daytime, and all of the iguanas were out from under their trees playing. All except for one iguana. He was still under his tree. He didn’t want to play with the other iguana. He was bored with the games they played. He wanted to try something new. So he stayed under his tree, and tried to think of what to do. He thought, and thought, and thought. He just laid there, staring up at the leaves on his tree the whole time he thought. He was just about to drift off to sleep, when suddenly he noticed something. His leaves were beautiful. They were also green, just like his skin. He wondered, “What would green look like upon green?” So, he plucked every last leaf from his tree, and covered himself up with them. His whole body was covered from head to tail with leaves. He was wearing clothes. The iguana felt beautiful and majestic. He never felt so happy before. The iguana began to walk around with his head up high, knowing he was the most beautiful creature in the world. But the other iguanas did not think so. They thought he looked funny. They all started to laugh at him. But the iguana did not care. He loved the way he looked, and he continued walking around proudly. Months passed, and the iguana was still wearing his leaves. He had never taken them off. The other iguana’s still laughed at him, but he had been hearing them laugh at him for so long, that he did not even seem to notice any more. He still felt beautiful and majestic. He still felt happy. Then one day, it began to rain. The iguana always loved rain. He thought it was beautiful and majestic two. It also made him happy. But then, the rain began to wash off his leaves. He struggled to put them back on, but they kept falling off, and then a sudden gust of wind blew them away. After that gust, the rain stopped, and the iguana noticed that he was naked. He was no longer wearing clothes. He felt so embarrassed and ashamed of himself, being out in public with no clothes. Though the other iguanas were no longer laughing at him, he still felt embarrassed to be seen by them. He ran back to his tree to hide from them. He wanted to cover himself up with leaves again, but there were no more leaves on his tree. The branches were as naked as he was. And so, the poor naked iguana just laid there under his tree for the rest of his life. He no longer felt beautiful and majestic. He no longer felt happy. أقل

He hated his boss, ‘hated’ her. He always felt oppressed in his job, psychologically bullied because she simply took a... المزيدHe hated his boss, ‘hated’ her. He always felt oppressed in his job, psychologically bullied because she simply took a dislike to him. He seemed to be the type of person whom, to her, was instantly dislikeable. It was not her who had hired him, so she had no choice but to accept him as an employee. He wondered if she was trying to find a way to dismiss him, but then thought that perhaps she enjoyed tormenting him because he let her get away with it. He had to he supposed, or she probably would sack him. Maybe she was frustrated because he never gave her a reason to dismiss him.As a health records clerk, his job did not warrant excitement. In fact, nodding an acknowledgement to the student nurses who he came by was as exciting as it got. He hated it, and he hated Miss Barbara Duncan. Miss. 57 years old, and married to her job. He knew that she had never had a man in her life. Probably just as well he thought. Any poor wretch who had been caught in her web was bound to have ended up as her slave, or prisoner. Yes love, sorry love, I won’t do it again. Yet, tempting as it was to simply walk out of the job, he stayed because it was a kind of safety net. Knowing how hard it was to find work in the current climate, he stayed because it was financially secure, and at one point in his life he had spent three years signing on. Never again, he had thought, so the job stayed as long as he had it, within his comfort zone which included his wife and three year old daughter, and as he lay in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling, he still couldn’t help but think of Miss Duncan, hoping she would simply leave, or leave him alone.Maybe, he thought, she held a secret desire for him, and that was why she kept hassling him. Was it her way of finding a partner? annoy those you fancy in some convoluted plan to catch them on a hook and reel them in. Some people had strange ways of going about it. So by keeping him the centre of her attention, he was popular only to her it seemed, and he didn’t know what to read into that. Yet she epitomised the word ‘battle-axe’, and the thought of her fancying him appalled him, and he turned in his bed to look at the closed curtains. A muted shaft of blue blended into the darkness on the ceiling, and he closed his eyes, and there she was, in his mind’s eye, watching him, but eventually she faded away to give rise to other thoughts that concerned him, but soon they gave way to the warm grip of sleep that enclosed his consciousness and took him to oblivion.It wasn’t long before he began to dream. He was standing in a field that he did not recognise. A few trees were scattered around, and across to his right at around a hundred metres was a forest. The grass was mostly of ankle length, and the sky held no clouds on what seemed to be a sunny day. He began to drift across the pasture, but not through his own will. He wasn’t concerned. He didn’t know it was a dream. The rules of reality and physics in dreamworlds are instantly shattered, but this seemed normal enough, considering.In the distance, he noticed somebody coming, or drifting towards him. He saw that it was Miss Deacon. She looked at him curiously as they passed. They turned to look at each other as the distance between them grew, but eventually both drifted out of sight. The field was huge and expansive, and his drifting began to speed up. Soon, everything melded into white, and it surrounded him like a fog. The white became muted, and grey tinted its shade, until it became black, unconsciousness returning him for the rest of the night into a dreamless void.Waking up, throwing the duvet cover back and swivelling to sit upright, it became immediate that something was wrong. Not only was he in unfamiliar surroundings, he was also in an unfamiliar body. Standing up and looking in a dressing table mirror, he looked into the face of Miss Deacon. Elsewhere, her mind had entered his body, and she was in a similar predicament. He realised as he stared at him-herself, that he had became that which he hated. أقل

Five souls, was all the Reaper required this time, and he had already collect three. Just two more to go. Draken sat alone,... المزيدFive souls, was all the Reaper required this time, and he had already collect three. Just two more to go. Draken sat alone, waiting in the theatre gallery, slump back in his chair with a glass of red wine grasped in his hand. Nisha climbed the carpeted stairs to the gallery with excitement. She had never seen a real show before, she wanted to get a good seat. But as she pushed open the doors she saw that the place was empty, but for that one man sat with his feet up on the table.With a smile he turned to the new comer, gesturing for her to come over and take the seat beside him. Nisha supposed he looked ok.Gradually she made her over and sat down.“Don’t worry sweet heart your in safe hands.” the man whispered into her ear as he lent towards her.His breath reeked of red wine, Nisha wondered just how much had he had.As Nisha sat, she noticed a warm sensation moving up her leg and as she looked down she saw his fingers walking slowly up them.A chill ran the length of her spine as she rose a hand to slap him. But as she did this, his hand grabbed her wrist, he smiled ravenously at her.“Now, there’s no need for rough play.” he leered as he lent over her body and bite sharply into her soft pink neck and her world fell into darkness. أقل

She had long wavy brown curls; it was a thick, silky mass that never seemed to end. When she idly strolled past him he got... المزيدShe had long wavy brown curls; it was a thick, silky mass that never seemed to end. When she idly strolled past him he got the faintest hint of honeysuckle perfume and another sent that was unique, different. She looked sharp and edgy but still sweet. That quite summed up her look entirely. She had a mature face, pretty features and her beautiful eyes were shadowed by her long lashes and a thick line of mascara, she gave her age away by wearing silly skulls and patterns on her black clothes, her arms were long and delicate, tapered down to her finely-boned, elegant hands, decorated with a few neon bangles which were the only splash of color to break up her all black outfit. She turned and looked back as if she sensed that he was watching her, he was so focused on her he saw every tiny movement. Her eyes widened so that he could see clearly into their piercing blue depths, her graceful eyebrows drew downward into a frown and full, pink lips parted in wonder and surprise when she saw him. Roarke grinned. He couldn’t help it; she just made him feel so elated and exultant. Her frown deepened but he knew it was a ruse, the corners of her mouth twitched and he felt his smile get wider in response. “Keera.” He whispered almost silently but he knew she heard him because of the way her lips trembled. but then reality dawned and his only thought was to stop her. He didn’t think she would turn around and just vanish. He vowed to himself that he would get his revenge. He pulled his coat tighter and strengthened his resolve. He sat in his spacious living room with a glass of whiskey. He had developed quite a taste for it. Moving towards the built-in bar he poured himself a double shot of vodka laced with gin and attempted to shut thoughts of Keera out if his mind. He was quite successfully thinking about his family when a tentative knock sounded on his door. He groaned, got up and managed to get there all in one piece, no thanks to the vodka. After struggling with the simple bolt he yanked the door open to find her standing right there. Forgetting himself, he felt a wide smile spread across his face.“Miss me?”The cautious smile left her beautiful face instantly. “You’re drunk?”“And loving every single moment of it,” he cocked his head to the side. “Especially now that you’re here.” He stepped aside and gestured vaguely around his apartment.She shook her head fervently. “No, I’m sorry—I should—just came to say—”Her words were abruptly cut off when he instinctively leaned down and caught her very tempting lips with his own. She felt the heat of him pour into her and was helpless to stop it. His smell, his taste, his dark brooding look, his voice, had all been flooding her system since that moment on the street. She felt his hands slide up her body, over her shirt and suddenly decided to stop fighting. She ran her hands through his dark silky hair slowly, moaning as his mouth slid smoothly down her throat, leaving trails of dark fire. She woke to the light, her eyes quickly adjusting to the harsh sunlit room to find a pair of disgust filled eyes watching her. Clutching at the sheet she sat up. He was sitting in a chair across the room wearing only his pants holding a glass of strong smelling alcohol.“You kissed me first.” It came out of her hoarse throat before she could stop it.“You kissed me back. Why?” his voice was hard, firm.“I—I don’t know.” She spluttered“I laid your clothes out for you in the bathroom. Leave when you’re ready.” He got up and walked stiffly out of the room.She hated the hot, fat trails of tears trailing down her bare face. Hated how naked and vulnerable she felt. Maybe Rory had been right she thought as she silently got out of the gorgeous four poster bed with the sheet wrapped tightly around her naked form. Rory was Roarke’s cousin but it was truly a wonder that they were even related. Rory, she smiled faintly as she closed the bathroom door behind her. He was always kind and even tempered and honest and—dull. Keera cursed herself inwardly; Rory was just the type of man who she should be married to. This thing that she and Roarke had was unpredictable. And besides he didn’t even like her anymore. This morning she had been on the verge of shouting the truth at him, flinging it at him like a sharply pointed dagger. That was before she saw him glaring at her, shooting daggers of his own. That had burst her cloud of happiness quicker than a bullet from a gun. *****She found him sitting in the middle of the vast lounge reading the newspaper and sipping a cup of what smelled like coffee.“Did you find everything you needed?” he asked without looking up.She almost laughed out loud at that. His bathroom was better stocked than a pharmacy. “Yes, thank you.”“Sit,” he gestured to the chair opposite him. “Have something to eat.”“No... أقل

“Well I’ll be damned. There he goes again. He just disappears, then when you think he’s gone, there he is again.... المزيد“Well I’ll be damned. There he goes again. He just disappears, then when you think he’s gone, there he is again. Freaking little roach. I should just kill him. Stomp him with one blow. Sometimes these little fellows need more then one. I have the power of life or death over the little bugger. Maybe I should keep him as a pet? It’s a bit lonely in this smelly hell hole, and my time could be running out.”“Senior, are you talking to yourself again?”The jailer approaches his cell.“Juan, you are my only friend. Tell me, what are my chances of getting the heck out of here?”“Prisoner Dan, your changes are not so good. Maybe 50/50. I would not wager much dinero on this. You did a bad thing amigo. You killed a policeman. A dirty man si, but a man. You kill, maybe they kill you. An eye for an eye. This is the way we do things in my country.”“What makes you think this way?’“Look outside. See the rope on the small bridge? That rope could have your name on it. Could be the Dan rope, or the rope for Dan. Or it could have another name on it.”He laughs and walks away. Dan looks at the rope, and shakes his head. He looks down and sees the roach facing his front boot.“There you are little amigo. I missed you. What are you up to? Having a nice day? My days are slowly falling off a cliff. I wonder if I can give you a message to take to my girlfriend in Boston? But I guess you can’t carry much. And then you would be gone, and I would have no one to talk to. We are friends, yes? Because if we’re not, I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch.”Dan turns to face his window, and watches the men prepare the hanging station. He notices how carefully they inspect the strength and durability of the whole structure. Did that rope have his name on it? Or would a rope by any other name smell much sweeter.”He looks down and the roach is still at the same place by his boot.“Well little fellow shall I tell you how I got here? Do you want to hear my story? (pause) I’ll take that as a yes.”I was watching President Kennedy make love to Marilyn Monroe on television. There she was in this incredible dress. Was it a dress, or a piece of see thru bliss? She was singing happy birthday to the chief executive in that sexy voice of hers. Surely she was having an affair with him, that’s what everyone was saying. There was talk of even more women. But Marilyn was the quintessence female of desire, and he seems to be having the time of his life.I was at a bar in the small town of Mucha. My college buddies were headed towards the beaches. I decided to hike the interior and observe the village life of the Mexican countryside. My grandfather was from this area, and I wanted to explore possible connections.The people at the restaurant were giving their full attention to the screen. As they watched this most attractive couple make goo goo eyes at each other. Where was Jackie? I was trying to think of the similarities and contrasts between these two icons, when a very pretty woman sat beside me and smiled.“Senior, you are not from this area, are you?”“No I’m from El Northe. My president is celebrating his birthday.”“He is a most handsome man. You both have the same eyes.”“And you seniorita have a magical blend of the first lady and that womanly goddess on the screen.”“You are too kind. My name is Julia. I am part owner of this cantina.”“I am Dan, and I own nothing but these clothes on my back.”“Perhaps without the clothes, you could own more. Excuse me, I need to take care of some customers.”What did she mean by that? I could own more without my clothes. Was she attempting to tell me something? Something sexual? I watched her work the tables. Looking at her now, she was a woman of shapely proportions, with a smile that said eat me. And I was very hungry. The hunger kept growing as she came closer and closer to my chair.“So Julia, do many Americans come to your little village?”“Very few. But when I see one so young and handsome, I like to give my full service.”“What do you get with full service?”“Here take a look at our full service menu. What were you thinking my American amigo? Are you hungry?”“My appetite is full of passion for your chili caliente con pollo.”“I will use the special sauce and make it muy caliente.”Dan watched as Julia got busy with the dinner crowd. When his dinner arrived he had to drink much agua to digest the spicy food. He was about to leave, when Julia came over to ask about his travels.“Where are you going now?’“I think maybe south towards the ocean. I might catch up with some of my friends.”“Do you know we have a few rooms upstairs for overnight stays. It will probably get dark by the time you reach the next town. Maybe rooms, maybe not. Would you like to take a look at our accommodations?“Why not. It might be a good idea. I could use some rest.”They start to walk up the stairs. Dan turns and notices all eyes are... أقل

In this so-called world of Europe, the year was precise to be 1992—where all the battles and pain began.Also, it started... المزيدIn this so-called world of Europe, the year was precise to be 1992—where all the battles and pain began.Also, it started when a youngster was born—a perfect day for a young, nameless baby to suffer.However, the child was lucky to be in the care of a person it once called mother.Of course, the child’s gender was unspecified until the biological parent or guardian determines whether it should be male or female. ? I stared down to see what the noise was upon my feet. There, I could see a baby wailing to the top of its lungs.I felt a surge of pity rising from my body, where I wanted to help this poor child from dying in the wilderness.Soon, I picked it up, to my surprise, I can see it had nothing on its nude form—there was not even a trace of sexual gland imprinted on this dear child. Still, I felt terrible for it, what kind of mother leaves her child in the middle of the chaotic Bosnia?“There is no need to stay here, child.” I said, with a lavender blanket wrapped around its cold, shivering body.As I came back to my dormitory, I began to cradle the young child in my arms, feeling it become happy and well, I felt fully satisfied because I knew I would be a good mother to this child. “Apremika, this will be your name. Throughout your whole life, you’ll experience great suffering from the people who sacrificed themselves for this country—and understand this; I will be there when you need me.”The child, however, was silent to my explanation and cuddled closer to my chest—then, at the time, I knew she listened… ? “Mama, mama, look at the sky, isn’t it pretty?”I waved my arms around, screaming, squealing cries of delight to my beautiful mother named Yggdrasil.To me, my mama was very pretty; her hair was the color of chatlin—brown mixed with blonde in French. Her eyes sparkled magnificently into pools of aquatic blue, and that her robes were always white as God—she looked to be a true Goddess. “Mama, am I beautiful? Do you love me at all?”I would ask those questions every now and then—making sure that she loves me true and well.She stares at me with a quizzical look on her face—I can tell she would answer the same and smile.“Of course I love you, what person in the world wouldn’t? I am sure somebody will love you as much as I do.” At first, I became a little frightened in her presence—seeing that she is taller than I am, but I knew.I knew not to be afraid of her because she loves me more than anyone else does.“Then…” I hung my head low at the sandy landscape beneath my bare feet and before I knew it, I raced to her arms, feeling her lift me up high and I smiled.“I love you too, mama!” At that moment, I knew she would be with me forever and ever… ? I winced slightly from the pain. In my first nineteen years of life, never have I experienced more pain than this.However, if my mother was there—Yggdrasil, then I would be fine as a butterfly—that is… what she had raised me to believe…“Mother,” I murmured incoherently, feeling her fingers and hands roaming, rinsing, and cleansing my hard skin, where my muscles began to tense from the softness of her graceful touch. I smiled softly, sighing and growing weary to the playfulness of her ministrations, resting myself on her lap.“Mother… I… wanted to tell you this for a long time,”She looks at me, her blue eyes softened at interest, to my personal thoughts and feelings—I knew I would have a hard time confessing this one.“What is it, my dear?”I hugged her, struggling to speak, but I could not—I have a feeling that she will not love me for what I am. “I… kill people,” I said in a low whisper, the burning, hot tears streamed from my black eyes as I confessed my original sin.I felt hesitation from her hands, slowly making their way up to my wounds—cleansing them thoroughly with that white cloth of hers.First, I winced at the touch, then I tried to see deeply into her eyes—they were a shade of dark blue and at that, she smiled sadly upon my pitiful figure.“You poor child…” she murmurs softly, holding me close to her large bosom, allowing me to cry and shudder against it. “Oh, mother, you knew, you knew, didn’t you?” I said, while moaning in agony, that yes, she is beautiful and sexually attractive, I never saw her aged and yet… I have feared this will be my greatest and unforgivable sin.I hurried myself to stop crying and suck it all down—I do not want anyone to worry about me anymore—not even mama.She stares at me with such genuine affection. She smiles softly that had shown her teeth of pearled white and her eyes soften into a contented shade of cerulean blue—I couldn’t tell whether her thoughts were whether platonic or not. She touches me—causing me to flinch, shaking with complex emotions that it was starting to make me feel so desperate and frustrated, how... أقل

“Where the hell are those two?” Chandré asked her friend Greg. Class D of the twelve graders from Saturnville High,... المزيد“Where the hell are those two?” Chandré asked her friend Greg. Class D of the twelve graders from Saturnville High, were in the middle of writing their final English exam, but two of the class’s desk were empty.The one desk belonged to Trevor Milton, while the other belonged to Leon Kelso; two of the schools biggest class clowns. “They better have a damn good excuse for missing this test”, the grouchy teacher whispered, as he overheard Chandré. Four blocks away… “What the fuck is wrong with you kids!!?” the exhausted man yelled out over his shoulder, as he ran down the alley with a stolen purse. “Drop the damn purse!” Trevor shouted back, as he chased after the thief, with Leon close by. A few seconds later, the thief dropped the stolen purse… but that didn’t satisfy the two ‘justice seeking’ teens, yet.They kept chasing after him, kicking the purse out of the way. “Okay! I dropped it!” the man yelled again. “Yeah, we noticed!” Leon shouted out. “Then stop freakin chasing me!” “We’ll stop when the police show up!” Trevor replied. The thief moaned to himself, frustrate; “screw this”, he said and jumped up against the fence on his side. With no energy left, he couldn’t even pull himself up, and just ended up hanging there while he tried to catch his breath. Leon and Trevor eventually caught up with the ‘hang man’ and crouched down to catch their breath too. The thief let go of the fence and landed back on his feet; “What’s up with you kids? Are your father’s cops or what?” he asked, turning to face them. “We made a pact with Justice”, Leon answered plainly, and Trevor nodded in agreement. The man looked at them miserably; “are you fuck’n serious? You know how corny that sounds? Justice ain’t even real!” Suddenly Leon and Trevor’s mood and expression darkens significantly, as if they’ve just been personally insulted.“You talk shit about Justice again” Leon griped; “and we’ll fuck you up. Come on! I dare you! Just say something again!” Surprised, the thief studied them; “justice… ain’t… SHIT!” *Bam!!Trevor and Leon both launched at the guy. Saturnville Police Academy. Three years later, Trevor and Leon finished their training at the local police academy and joined the force. Since they’re childhood, they’ve been obsessed with ‘Justice’.They’ve even gone so far as to portray ‘Justice’ as a graceful woman, in need of their help. The two best friends, standing amongst the other eighteen recruits, all dressed in their uniforms, smiled at the cheering crowd, with their hands behind their backs. “We’re one step closer to Justice, bro”, Leon whispered to Trevor. “No shit” he replied; “I can’t wait to get my first bust.” “How about a race?” Leon suggested playfully; “First one to jail fifteen criminals gets to embrace Justice first, after we’re eventually worthy of meeting her of course.” Trevor smiled, thinking about it; “you’re on”. Two days later. “Ain’t this a bitch…!?” Leon said frustrated. The two, being assigned together after a half an hour plead, sat in their police issued vehicle, staking out a house in the ‘Brailoa’ neighbourhood. This was definitely not their thing.They understood catching criminals, yes, but waiting like this for something to eventually happen, was not their thing at all.And on the other hand; the ‘Brailoa’ neighbourhood was one of the safest upper class neighbourhoods. It was rare that something illegal went on in this area. “Tell me about it…” Trevor remarked, miserable, and gave his captain a call on his cell phone; “Captain here’s nothing happening… Leon asks if we can leave now…” Leon quickly punched Trevor against the arm; “No I didn’t, Captain!” he shouted over at the phone. “Trevor” the Captain replied; “you stay there. That’s your assignment, okay? You stay there.” In the Captains office. The captain stands over his desk, in front of the phone, with six other police officers around him.Everyone’s trying to keep in their laughter. “Yes captain” Trevor says from the other side of the line; “I’m just saying, I can’t say see anything illegal happening over here… this area is one of the most innocent areas in town.” The guys look up at the captain, almost breaking into laughter. “Just stay there for another few hours or so…” the captain replied, almost breaking into laughter now, himself; “I’m sure something will come up…” and with that he ended the call and finally broke out laughing. The others all joined in around him. Back in the ‘Brailoa’ Neighbourhood. “Screw this”, Trevor said and cocked his ‘SIG-Sauer P220’ pistol, in front of his face. “Woah…” Leon commented, looking at Trevor. “What?” Trevor asked him curiously. “That looked sick just now”, he replied; “the way you said ‘screw this’ and then cocked you gun.” Trevor... أقل

I don’t like rain. Apparently, I was born on a rainy night. I don’t remember, but I remember father telling me about it... المزيدI don’t like rain. Apparently, I was born on a rainy night. I don’t remember, but I remember father telling me about it all the time when I was little. Babbo liked to reminisce about the cold, windy, rainy night that his beloved wife left this world and set him on the path to pure pain. Our neighbor Frau Breuer told me many times about the night I was born. She knew everything because she was the one who delivered me and some hours later covered my mother’s face with a wet towel and burned the bed coverings.The year was 1903 and in the small town of Wahring, outside of Wien or Vienna as it is called today, an Italian-born dress shoppe assistant had just lost the love of his life, his wife and the mother of his, now, two children. From what Babbo told me, he was so completely consumed with his agony that he didn’t set eyes on me till I was almost 5 months old and I was raised in the home of Frau Breuer till the day he decided to carry me home. According to Babbo, he set me in my crib and introduced me to Franz, my three year old brother, who mother had named after the Archduke.“I was buying some cabbage from the market one morning and Galitia came near me. She whispered in my ear; the most beautiful words. She said Agnalo, ‘I am going to have your child.’ She said ‘Papa will bury me under the shrubs’. That’s when I knew. I knew I had to take care of her, love her and protect her. And a baby, I was felice! I took her hand in mine and I told her we’d run away. Her father, oh he was a great man. A severe man. He would have sent her to a nunnery and thrown my child away like some garbage. He would have had some one from his masse kill me. I could not allow that. Not to my Galitia. She was everything to me. My one true love. My bello Galitia. My vibrante Galitia. Two nights later, I met her behind the chiesa. We each had one sacco. We walked for hours, silent. Being with her, ha... time passed, I did not care what day it was, what time of day it was. I had her – nothing else. We slept in a field of barley and I was still contente. Some weeks later we were in Wien. My principessa had to live in a small cot under a meat shoppe and that’s where Franz was born. Mio Figlio!” Babbo would clap his hands and hug Franz and tell him he was proud of him for going to school, being a good boy or finishing his chores. Babbo loved him so much, makes me sad to think about it now. He would look at me and say “mia piccola principessa. My bello principessa,” and I would giggle. It was so long ago. I can’t remember if I was two, three or four years old, I just remember being happy. We would be cuddled in bed with Babbo in the middle and me and Franz on his either side. “Franz, principessa, you two know your Nonno was a friar. He would have whipped me if he knew I ever worked in a meat shoppe. Dio! If he ever knew now that I was working in a dress shoppe, Aye! He would shut me in the shoe closet if I ever asked him a question after he gave me an order. He would hit me on the head with a Bible, right here,” and he would touch the back of his head. “I swore with my hand over my heart, when your mother told me about Franz, that I would never lay a hand on my children.” And he never did. He kept his word to his last breath, no matter how insolent I was. He would tell us that the saddest day of his life was the day Mamma died, “but I was blessed with my angel. Look at you. I will give everything to you two. Mio figlio will be a gentleman. My principessa will wear the pretty dresses from the shoppe one day, make all the boys go pazzo.” That was before. I grew up in the after.Her name was Aurelia Karoline Arisztid and my father married her some days before my fifth birthday. She was an Austrian widow. Babbo married her because he didn’t want Franz and me to grow up without a mother. Her daughter, Theresa, wasn’t much younger than me and always looked really well cared for. Theresa, she had these big, beautiful grey eyes and pale hair and complexion, while Franz and I were darker and had hazel eyes. She spoke Hungarian and we spoke Italian. It was difficult when we used to play together. But we all taught each other how to get along. She used to call her mother ‘Anya’, so that’s what we called her too. At the wedding, the attendees were us, Anya’s father and sisters and Frau Breuer.Anya was good to us. I remember Theresa having these pretty, frilly frocks which I had seen on all the girls my age and I always coveted them. She looked even prettier in them than she would without them. Her flaxen hair was always so shiny. She was so slender and I would look at her, wondering what I would look like in her frocks, what it would feel like to be in a body like hers. Anya let me have Theresa’s frocks and I accepted them despite being bigger than her. Wearing them was embarrassing. They didn’t fit me right, but I still wore them and I still loved them. Before Anya, the only... أقل

Ch.3 Roderick walked in cautiously as he took in his surroundings. His eyes wandered from the walls and ceiling,... المزيدCh.3 Roderick walked in cautiously as he took in his surroundings. His eyes wandered from the walls and ceiling, taking in every detail. Tim closed the door behind him and walked towards the living room area. “Want something to drink?” Tim asked. He turned when Roderick didn’t answer and found the man staring at his back. Roderick seemed to notice and apologized. “Something wrong?” Tim asked. “No it’s just. I’ve heard stories about you; about what you are. I was expecting a little more…”Roderick said looking for the words to finish his sentence. “More demonic?” Tim offered. “Yeah, kind of; I just thought you would have wings or something.” He said. Tim chuckled to himself as his wings were folded into what looked like a long black robe now. “Who says I don’t.” Tim said. “Now how bout I get you something to drink, kitchen’s this way.” he motioned for Roderick to follow him and the young man simply followed at a slight distance. The kitchen was large and open with stainless steel appliances and marble counter tops. Iron lattices with pots and pans hung down from the high ceiling as well as baskets of fake fruit and flowers. Tim opened the fridge and pulled two cokes from it. He slid one across the island bar in the center of the kitchen to Roderick and then opened his own. “Thank you, you don’t have to be this generous.” Roderick said. “No, but that’s never stopped me before.” Tim said. “So where is Jocard proposing I meet him?” “The yards in the village; the annual fights are held there.” Roderick said. “Fights?” Tim asked. “We hold a series of fights every year for position in the pack. It helps keep order and keeps us from fighting among ourselves most of the time. Plus it makes sure the fights are fair and we don’t kill each other.” Roderick said. “I see; so what rank do you hold in the pack?” Tim asked. “I’m just a grunt really; I run small errands and defend the pack when ever I can.” Roderick said. So who are Jocard’s seconds?” Tim asked. “Why do you need to know them?” Roderick asked with suspicion in his voice. “Because pack leader can change at the drop of a hat and I need to know if I make a deal with Jocard, if it will be upheld by the next leader.” Tim said. Roderick seemed to consider this for a moment. “You seem to know a lot about our ways, why is that?” Roderick asked. “I told you, I know quite a few shape shifters back in the states.” Tim said. “Fine, Fredericks and Jonathan are his seconds and they are loyal to Jocard to the death. They were two of the first wolves that Jocard recruited to the pack after he became leader.” Roderick said. “Okay, then tell me about Jocard.” Tim said. “What do you want to know?” Roderick asked. “Anything that I don’t already know from stories I’ve heard.” Tim said. Roderick talked for a good thirty minutes about his pack leader. Apparently Jocard was the second leader of the pack after he had killed the last leader. Those that were old enough to remember said it was after the old leader had forced Jocard to kill a human girl that he had killed him. No one knew why but that was just the legend. From what Tim could gather and Roderick confirmed, Jocard was an impeccable leader with charisma enough to recruit wolves to his pack with very little persuasion. He took in mostly those who could not help themselves and helped them along on the island. Most of the wolves were runaways or orphans looking for something better. Roderick just finished when Kira walked into the kitchen. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail with only her feathered hair piece falling down the side of her head. She was wearing black bike shorts and a red jogging top leaving her back and stomach exposed showing her rose tattoo to the world. “Who’s our guest?” she asked. “Angel, this is Roderick, he’s the young man I helped out last night.” Tim said. “Roderick, this is my wife, Kira.” She shook his hand and smiled sweetly to him. “Nice to meet you.” She said. “Nice to meet you as well, ma’am.” Roderick said. “I’m glad Tim was able to help you out.” She said. “I’m glad to. I don’t think I would be standing here if he hadn’t.” Roderick said. “Then I’m really glad he was there.” she said. She went to the fridge and pulled a bottle of water from it. “What are your plans today?” Tim asked. “Training, I’m going to see if that orb you gave me can keep up.” Kira said. “I’m pretty sure it can. Just be careful and don’t push... أقل

Chapter 4 Dirt roads and forest covered most of the island with small villages and homes tucked in them. The... المزيدChapter 4 Dirt roads and forest covered most of the island with small villages and homes tucked in them. The main hub of the island was a port town that had refused to grow any farther than a mile from the ocean. Instead the building had been built up and seemed to lean in on each other. Wires and bare studs dotted the spaces between the narrow roads and dark alleys while people walked in and out of the shadows cast by the neon lights. Shops were stuffed into spaces that were no more than holes made in the walls. Vendors lined the already crowded streets trying to sale there wares while other shops had criers outside the door asking for people to come in and have a look. The first thing that Kira felt as they came near the town was the amount of power that radiated off of it like the heat waves off of hot pavement; it was almost tangible to her. Kira seemed to recline back in the seat as Tim pulled Betty into a spot near the town’s entrance. “You alright?” Tim asked as he “killed” the engine. Kira just nodded her head as she felt an overwhelming urge to fall asleep. She felt like she was wrapped up in a cozy blanket now, or better still, being wrapped in Tim’s wings. “It’s the town. I know, I can feel it to.” Tim said. “It’s intoxicating.” She managed to croak out in a voice thick with sleep. “Just remember what I taught you; bring your shields into place and keep the energy at bay.” Tim said. Kira nodded again as she thought about her mental shields. She brought the image of thick steel walls falling into place around her, cutting her off from the flow of the town. As the walls came into place, she could feel the warm sensation flowing out of her. She sat up now, shaking the last dregs off and climbing out of Betty. Tim met her in front of the truck and gently took her hand. Tim was dressed in his usual attire with black jeans and a plain white dress shirt over a dark blue t-shirt. His wings were folded around him now in the familiar shape of his coat along with a pair of mirrored glasses that hid his eyes. His eyes had once been an electric blue but since the change they had stayed black and red so he wore the glasses to not immediately disturb someone. Kira knew that under his coat he was wearing his gun belt that held his hand cannon revolver while he carried his sword safely in its sheath in his left hand. Kira had dressed according to the weather and incase there was any trouble. She wore dark leather pants with a black vest top. She wore two large knives belted behind her and hidden by lengths of cloth that trailed behind her as she walked. Long, fingerless glove completed the outfit concealing armored plates beneath them for blocking an attack. They had both decided to go as lightly armed as possible with both of them carrying only two weapons. Though both of them knew that they could tear the town apart with out any kind of steel easily, but most people only sized up what they could see. “What was that?” she asked. “This town was built over two centuries ago on top of a local Ley line and it’s slowly been added upon over the years. A lot of magic and human emotion run through the town almost like it has a soul of its own. Mix in a handful of witches, vampires, shape shifters, and other supernatural beings and they all add to the heady mix.” Tim said. “So where are we going?” she asked as they began “The local bar called The Yards. The werewolves use it as a main hub and meeting place. Tonight there holding there annual fights for rank.” Tim said. “Are we looking at someone being killed?” Kira asked. “I’m thinking not from what I’ve heard about them. Jocard put these in place to keep everyone from trying to kill each other over rank but then again there’s one rank you have to kill for.” Tim said. “Pack leader.” Kira said in a matter of fact tone. Tim looked at her with a smile that said he was impressed by her answer. “Hang around you long enough and anyone will start to think like you.” She said. “That’s kind of scary.” Tim said. “I know.” She said smiling sweetly. They walked down the road parting the crowds as they went. Most of the island knew of Tim’s presence and it wasn’t hard to walk through the crowds as they tried to avoid being in his way. It wasn’t long before the neon sign of the club was looming before them. A single bouncer stood in front of the door blocking the entire entrance with his massive frame. Even in the low light of the area, Kira could tell that the man was the darkest man she had ever laid eyes on. His skin seemed almost painted with the color black and his attire of black shirt, pants and shoes only made him more menacing. His head was completely bald with a single gold earring on his left ear glinting in the... أقل

Chapter 6 The office was now a little more active as Jonathan and Fredericks stood on either side of there... المزيدChapter 6 The office was now a little more active as Jonathan and Fredericks stood on either side of there Alpha. Tim sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk while Kira stood behind him with a hand draped over his left shoulder. Roderick was sitting with a couple of the other wolves near the window looking out onto the club while a couple others were posted by the door. Jocard had shifted back to human form but some of his features were still in wolf form. His eyes were still golden amber while his teeth revealed gleaming canines. He sat behind his desk wearing only a pair of black slacks he’d pulled from a closet in the office. “So let me get this straight, you’re asking me to hand over control of my pack to you?’ Jocard asked. “Not at all, I’m not asking for control of anything from you or anyone on this island; I want to make this place a home.” Tim said. “Home for what; More of these parasitic vampires that keep pushing into our island paradise everyday?” Jocard asked sarcastically. “Home for those without one; Home for those that the high covenant and Council of bloodsuckers refuse to help. I’m talking about turning this island into a true sanctuary. I now have the accords authority behind me and the clout to make this into what you’ve also been fighting for.” Tim said. “So what do you want from me? What do you want from the pack?” Jocard asked as he leaned forward on his desk. Tim leaned forward as well. “What I want is to coexist with you. It’s the best option we have.” Tim said. “So what’s the arrangement?” Jocard asked. “I give you my backing as your official with the accords as far as they go, for the island we run it together, your wolves are in trouble, and I come running and vice versa. No authority trips, no power plays; we both work together. That’s the arrangement.” Tim said. “Is this on your word?” Jocard asked. “It is.” Tim said knowing that a witch’s word was as binding as any contract. “Then we are in agreement.” Jocard said. He stood from his chair and offered his hand. Tim stood as well and both men shook on the deal. “Come now, we celebrate our new union.” Jocard said. The rest of the night was spent dancing and partying. Jocard began introducing Tim and Kira to all of the wolves in the pack that were in attendance as well as some of the major players and suppliers on the island. The party of the club moved out into the street as more and more people joined the dancing. The house band moved to a raised platform in the street as everyone continued to dance. Tim summoned some of his own magic and made dazzling lights dance through the air. Ribbons of light began to dance over everyone’s head in every color imaginable. Some would crash into each other and make bursts of sparks that rained down on them harmlessly. For most of the night, Tim and Kira spent it dancing in each other’s arms with the light show exploding over there heads. Soon the night was over with both of them sleeping comfortably in each other’s arms in there bed. The doorbell ringing brought Kira out of her pleasant dreams in a rush. She pushed Tim’s wing off of her and found her blue silk robe next to the bed. Tim was still fast asleep as the sound of ocean waves coming up on the beach rumbled through the house. Kira pulled her hair into a quick tie and then went downstairs to answer the front door. She didn’t know who it could be this early in the morning, probably Jocard or one of his wolves coming over with news. She finally came to the door and opened it with out a second thought. Standing outside in the entryway was the last person she expected to see in the daylight. Andre LeStrade stood in his impeccably tailored suit with sunglasses covering his eyes and a dark umbrella hung across his shoulder. His long dark brown hair fell down his back as he smiled his dazzling smile. “Good morning, Ma Cheri’” he said in greeting with a thick French accent. Kira stood dumbfounded as her brain couldn’t seem to process him being there in the sunlight. Andre was a vampire that ran an underground archive specializing in forbidden arts. Another little side project started by Tim’s mother Loreana. “How?” was all she could say. “The umbrella, Ma Cheri, it protects me from direct sunlight. I’m afraid I have some rather distressing news for you and your husband.” He said. “What’s happened?” she asked. “I’m afraid tragedy has struck Mr. Gearson again.” He said. Kira stood to one side allowing Andre to pass but still he remained at the door. “I’m sorry, but this is my first time here.” He said. “I know.” She said. “Then you know I cannot cross the... أقل

Chapter 7 The wind continued to rush through the cabin as Tim stood near the open doorway. Roderick remained... المزيدChapter 7 The wind continued to rush through the cabin as Tim stood near the open doorway. Roderick remained glued in his seat as Tim motioned for Kira to come closer. She made her way over to him but with the wind it was a bit of a struggle. She finally managed to get to him and he wrapped his arms around her. He smiled at her as her hair whipped around both of there faces and his coat flapped around there bodies. “You trust me?” he asked over the screaming wind. “Always.” She yelled back. With out any other indication, Tim leapt with her out of the plane. Roderick made it to one of the windows and just caught a glimpse of black spreading out in the air. Something slammed down and the wind instantly died in the cabin. Roderick looked to see a metal shudder had slammed shut in front of the plane door now. “That man is fucking bat shit crazy.” Roderick said to himself. Kira felt the rush of the wind past her face as they descended towards the ground at breakneck speed. Tim continued to hold onto her and she kept her arms locked around him. “You can open your eyes.” Tim said, but this wasn’t from his mouth. She could hear him inside her mind talking to her. They were able to talk to each other through there minds ever since Tim had come back. She opened her eyes slowly and found that they were racing towards the ground like a bullet. “What’s your plan this time?” she asked through that same psychic link. “I can’t open my wings this far from the ground, it’ll just shred them. Once we get into range I’m going to use them like a glider/ parachute.” Tim said. “Okay, then what do we do when get on the ground?” she asked. “We find lance; shouldn’t be too hard. We’ll follow the path that the running people leave. Your crowd control while I put him down.” He said. “Crowd control?” she asked. “You’ll need to run interference incase any civilians get close to the fighting. I’ll try and keep lance reigned in, but the more I can focus on him, the faster we’ll put him down.” Tim said. “Got it; what about the government operatives?” she asked. “Put em down but non lethal.” Tim said. “Ready for the jerk?” Kira didn’t even have time to respond as Tim’s wings opened like they were loaded on springs. The massive black wings were more akin to a dragon’s long lengthy wings covered in velvet like fur. They spread out at least six feet on either side of Tim and were at least a good four feet wide each. They instantly caught the wind and Kira felt Tim’s and her bodies jerk from the sudden slow down. Tim kept his wings taught as they began to spin like a plane caught in a tailspin. They spun for what seemed like forever until Tim angled his wings and brought them into a smooth glide a few feet over the rooftops of the city. Tim turned Kira in his arms and then held onto her weapon rig dangling her just below him. She swung her body for a moment and brought her legs up to wrap around Tim’s legs. Tim smiled as he flapped his wings to remain airborne and Kira put her arms out. The dusk of the setting sun cast several different hues of color on the buildings below mixed together with the flashing of small explosions through out the city blended together to create an amazing site. People scattered through the streets and the ground came closer to them she could hear the screaming and yelling of people. They rushed through the cramped alleys and walkways as troops and police tried to get through them and at the problem at hand. They were a few feet above the rooftops now and Kira could make out people’s faces and the expression on every one of them said the same thing; fear. “I’m going to drop you on the next rooftop, try and keep up with me.” Tim said out loud. “Wait, how do you know where he’s going to be?” she yelled back. “That’s easy; just follow the path of screaming people. What ever directions there moving in, you want to move the other way. Or you can look for the bigger explosions.” Tim said. Kira didn’t answer as she let her legs unwrap and felt Tim let go of her rig. She put her feet in front then rolled with the momentum and stopped in a crouch just on the other side of a ledge on the rooftop Tim had dropped her on. In the distance near the heart of the city she could see explosions going off one right after another. The entire city was in chaos but the explosions near the center caught her interest because they weren’t normal yellow gouts of flame and smoke; they were a deep crimson red. Kira rolled her shoulders in her rig to release a little of the tension that had built up and took off running across the rooftops. She cleared many gaps between buildings with grace and style using every... أقل

Chapter 8 It was the cold she felt first; Always the cold. Her eyes were still closed and she felt like cotton... المزيدChapter 8 It was the cold she felt first; Always the cold. Her eyes were still closed and she felt like cotton was stuffed inside of her ears, but she definitely felt cold. She didn’t move at first as her body seemed rigid and unable to move in the first place. Her joints ached and most of her body throbbed with a low current of pain. It was the scream that made her jump. Muted to an extent but she could tell that it was a scream. Audery sat up and slowly opened her eyes. She sat on the floor of a completely empty room painted in what she assumed was stark white. The lights were all off except for two lights coming from square panels set in the wall to her right. The walls and floor were made of stone, possibly marble and polished smooth reflecting some of the low light. She looked at herself and found that all of her clothes except for her bra and panties were gone. She examined herself as best she could; looking for any bruising or cuts but found none. More than likely she had been restrained the entire time she was out was why her body ached so much. She stood up but found her legs did not want to cooperate entirely, forcing her to use the wall behind her to brace herself. Her heart began to beat a little faster but almost like it was encased in something. The heavy thudding almost hurt against her chest as she struggled to take in a breath. Finally for what felt like hours her breathing and heart rate returned to normal. She started slowly walking along the wall feeling for any seems or cracks that would indicate a passage way, since there was no obvious doorway in or out of the room. She made her way all the way around the room and concurred that there were more than a few dozens panels built into the walls and few more built into the floor. She looked up to see that the roof was tiled in large white rectangles and surmised that there were access lights there or more panels. The room seemed to have no escape as she began to think back on what had happened. All she could remember was the blonde in her room, the woman in white. She tried to focus on her image but her mind began to blur and a dull thumping started in the back of her head. Finally she gave up and sat down in the corner near the lights in the wall. She huddled there with her knees up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs, thinking of what was happening outside. She could only imagine what lance was doing now. Would he find her before something happened to her? Would he find her at all? What if he finally lost it? A dozen questions seemed to fly through her mind but the sound of hissing brought her back to reality. She slowly stood up using the walls behind her to lean against as a large door swung open in the room. Audrey stood there for a moment as someone came inside the room. As soon as she heard the click of heels the room instantly became flooded with light. For a moment she could see nothing but continued to hear the click of heels on stone floor. “Time to wake up my sweet.” The woman said. Audery recognized it immediately. Her eyes adjusted to see the woman standing over her. She was dressed now in black leather boots with six inch heels. She wore small black shorts that left little to the imagination as well as a black leather corset and matching leather gloves that ran up to just below her shoulders. Her hair was pulled tightly back with only a small strand on either side of her face in front. Large rings were interlaced through the long ponytail that rode high on her head and bobbed slightly as she moved. Dark lipstick and eyeliner completed the look. “What do you want from me?” Audery asked. The woman seemed to sigh heavily and gave a casual look over her shoulder. Two women stood near the now closing door dressed in full body latex suits. Both were complete contrasts in color as one wore a suit that was fire engine red while the other was in a neon yellow number. The woman in red was light skinned with deep cobalt blue hair done in a cascade around her face. The other woman stood with dark forest green hair that was cut in a short bob with sharp angles just above the shoulders. They stood there motionless as Audery noticed that both women’s eyes seemed glazed over and unresponsive. “From you my dear?” the woman asked sweetly. “Just the pleasure of your company, nothing more.” The woman said. “Besides ill have what I want soon enough.” “What’s that?” Audery asked. “You’ll see soon enough.” The woman said with a slight smile. “Who the fuck are you?” Audery asked with anger in her voice. A sharp slap to the face was what she received in answer. “Your master, and you will watch your tongue or I will cut it out.” The woman said while latching a hand onto Audrey’s jaw. Audery spit in the woman’s face before screaming. “Fuck you!” the... أقل

He hated his boss, ‘hated’ her. He always felt oppressed in his job, psychologically bullied because she simply took a... المزيدHe hated his boss, ‘hated’ her. He always felt oppressed in his job, psychologically bullied because she simply took a dislike to him. He seemed to be the type of person whom, to her, was instantly dislikeable. It was not her who had hired him, so she had no choice but to accept him as an employee. He wondered if she was trying to find a way to dismiss him, but then thought that perhaps she enjoyed tormenting him because he let her get away with it. He had to he supposed, or she probably would sack him. Maybe she was frustrated because he never gave her a reason to dismiss him.As a health records clerk, his job did not warrant excitement. In fact, nodding an acknowledgement to the student nurses who he came by was as exciting as it got. He hated it, and he hated Miss Barbara Duncan. Miss. 57 years old, and married to her job. He knew that she had never had a man in her life. Probably just as well he thought. Any poor wretch who had been caught in her web was bound to have ended up as her slave, or prisoner. Yes love, sorry love, I won’t do it again. Yet, tempting as it was to simply walk out of the job, he stayed because it was a kind of safety net. Knowing how hard it was to find work in the current climate, he stayed because it was financially secure, and at one point in his life he had spent three years signing on. Never again, he had thought, so the job stayed as long as he had it, within his comfort zone which included his wife and three year old daughter, and as he lay in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling, he still couldn’t help but think of Miss Duncan, hoping she would simply leave, or leave him alone.Maybe, he thought, she held a secret desire for him, and that was why she kept hassling him. Was it her way of finding a partner? annoy those you fancy in some convoluted plan to catch them on a hook and reel them in. Some people had strange ways of going about it. So by keeping him the centre of her attention, he was popular only to her it seemed, and he didn’t know what to read into that. Yet she epitomised the word ‘battle-axe’, and the thought of her fancying him appalled him, and he turned in his bed to look at the closed curtains. A muted shaft of blue blended into the darkness on the ceiling, and he closed his eyes, and there she was, in his mind’s eye, watching him, but eventually she faded away to give rise to other thoughts that concerned him, but soon they gave way to the warm grip of sleep that enclosed his consciousness and took him to oblivion.It wasn’t long before he began to dream. He was standing in a field that he did not recognise. A few trees were scattered around, and across to his right at around a hundred metres was a forest. The grass was mostly of ankle length, and the sky held no clouds on what seemed to be a sunny day. He began to drift across the pasture, but not through his own will. He wasn’t concerned. He didn’t know it was a dream. The rules of reality and physics in dreamworlds are instantly shattered, but this seemed normal enough, considering.In the distance, he noticed somebody coming, or drifting towards him. He saw that it was Miss Deacon. She looked at him curiously as they passed. They turned to look at each other as the distance between them grew, but eventually both drifted out of sight. The field was huge and expansive, and his drifting began to speed up. Soon, everything melded into white, and it surrounded him like a fog. The white became muted, and grey tinted its shade, until it became black, unconsciousness returning him for the rest of the night into a dreamless void.Waking up, throwing the duvet cover back and swivelling to sit upright, it became immediate that something was wrong. Not only was he in unfamiliar surroundings, he was also in an unfamiliar body. Standing up and looking in a dressing table mirror, he looked into the face of Miss Deacon. Elsewhere, her mind had entered his body, and she was in a similar predicament. He realised as he stared at him-herself, that he had became that which he hated. أقل

Five souls, was all the Reaper required this time, and he had already collect three. Just two more to go. Draken sat alone,... المزيدFive souls, was all the Reaper required this time, and he had already collect three. Just two more to go. Draken sat alone, waiting in the theatre gallery, slump back in his chair with a glass of red wine grasped in his hand. Nisha climbed the carpeted stairs to the gallery with excitement. She had never seen a real show before, she wanted to get a good seat. But as she pushed open the doors she saw that the place was empty, but for that one man sat with his feet up on the table.With a smile he turned to the new comer, gesturing for her to come over and take the seat beside him. Nisha supposed he looked ok.Gradually she made her over and sat down.“Don’t worry sweet heart your in safe hands.” the man whispered into her ear as he lent towards her.His breath reeked of red wine, Nisha wondered just how much had he had.As Nisha sat, she noticed a warm sensation moving up her leg and as she looked down she saw his fingers walking slowly up them.A chill ran the length of her spine as she rose a hand to slap him. But as she did this, his hand grabbed her wrist, he smiled ravenously at her.“Now, there’s no need for rough play.” he leered as he lent over her body and bite sharply into her soft pink neck and her world fell into darkness. أقل

Chapter Seven The ceremony lasted well into the night, the closing event was the marking of Lysia and Alan, simple tattoos... المزيدChapter Seven The ceremony lasted well into the night, the closing event was the marking of Lysia and Alan, simple tattoos where placed on their wrists. The tattoo depicted drops of water, one side colored blood red the other black which simply meant that the clan had both blood types in their company, the raining water symbolized their mass and flow of people joining.It had worked.Clan members from around a ten mile radius joined in the centre of their civilization with Kirok being the Lord.William was set to take his place but since his death many people voted that there most seasoned tactician, a man named Fersho, was to succeed as the original next of kin had died with William. Kirok embraced him like a son and placed a necklace around him, sharp fangs dangled from it’s beautifully weaved rope.“A new tooth has been added” he said glumly “One of Williams”.He patted the boy on the shoulder and left the crowd to celebrate.Fersho walked over to Lysia… Lysia was left alone as Alan mingled with the Pack, Fersho tapped her on the shoulder and she jumped in fright.He smiled at her as if nothing happened.“I saw you in the crowd” he said smiling “You smell different”?She didn’t understand why but she stared at him not speaking.“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to upset you” he said nervously, he scratched the back of his neck.“What do you want Fersho”?“A dance” he asked.She blushed, someone was playing a flute but it was nothing special, not dance material none the less, he looked Half-blood, he smelt it too which was probably why he was sweating so much and trying not to offend her, this made her like him.“Throw in some other instrument and we have music” she said.Fersho smiled “I’m sure someone here plays”.He ran up onto a podium, it was where all of Kirok’s formal speeches where given and he put two fingers in his mouth and let out a loud squeaking whistle, everyone covered there ears at the high pitched sound, all but Fersho.“Sorry” he said “Does anyone here play a lute or any other kind of instrument”.Twenty hands flew into the air, Lysia smiled, this was hilarious.There was a lute player and singer in the group, a talented pair and soon the crowd enjoyed a better tune.“Better” Fersho said “You promised”.He held out a hand and Lysia laughed.“You’re alright I suppose” she said and took it; she had no idea how to dance however.“Put your hand here” Fersho said gently, placing it on his upper back, he had his hands on her waist which sent hot flushes through her body; she was nearly semi naked in the small skirt and top being touched by a man she barely new, she didn’t have relationship issues but she wasn’t exactly looking for a mate.“Relax” said Fersho ironically “I’m not going to sleep with you” she could even smell her own fear.She stared into his eyes and he stared back, he looked to be in his twenties, but she knew better than that “How old are you Fersho”.“Forty-Seven” he replied “Still a bit young I admit but…”“No that’s fine, I’m Twenty nine myself” she confessed without thinking.“Really, you look like a sixteen year old”?“Yeah and I bet your healer isn’t really fourteen is she”?He shook his head “In her twenties I think, she’s a quiet one, doesn’t talk much”.She nodded as he twirled her dramatically, that made her dizzy and she stumbled trying to catch her feet.“Sorry, my mother taught me that” he laughed “She was a dancer before I was bitten”.“Is she still alive”? Lysia asked.Fersho shook his head “The Wolf who turned me killed my mother, he was my father see and she didn’t like him for what he was when he told her, he Turned me after killing my mother then killed himself”.“I pity you” Lysia said, Fersho was a tall man, blonde hair going down to his shoulders and his kin was tanned, he was wearing a pair of trousers but nothing else.His chest was covered in scars but he was strong, very strong.“I got these in a Clan War, only lasted a week but I hurt the most for it” he said, watching her feel his scars without asking, but he just smiled “You certainly act on impulse don’t you”?She nodded “A tendency I, my Pup and a lot of other Pure-bloods have apparently”.Fersho laughed.She felt herself grow more attached to this man, then Fersho wrapped his arms around her and pushed her into him, her head only reached his chest, she was tiny compared to him, she felt herself give into him and rested her head against him as they continued to dance in a slow circle.“You’re warm” she said, rubbing his chest… Alan watched the couple dancing; he stood beside the healer girl who stared also.“Sweet” she said then walked away leaving Alan rather dumb struck, she returned five minutes later carrying two mugs of strong alcohol, Alan took the mug from her and sipped at the strong tasting liquid.“Is this whisky”? He asked whilst his... أقل

She had long wavy brown curls; it was a thick, silky mass that never seemed to end. When she idly strolled past him he got... المزيدShe had long wavy brown curls; it was a thick, silky mass that never seemed to end. When she idly strolled past him he got the faintest hint of honeysuckle perfume and another sent that was unique, different. She looked sharp and edgy but still sweet. That quite summed up her look entirely. She had a mature face, pretty features and her beautiful eyes were shadowed by her long lashes and a thick line of mascara, she gave her age away by wearing silly skulls and patterns on her black clothes, her arms were long and delicate, tapered down to her finely-boned, elegant hands, decorated with a few neon bangles which were the only splash of color to break up her all black outfit. She turned and looked back as if she sensed that he was watching her, he was so focused on her he saw every tiny movement. Her eyes widened so that he could see clearly into their piercing blue depths, her graceful eyebrows drew downward into a frown and full, pink lips parted in wonder and surprise when she saw him. Roarke grinned. He couldn’t help it; she just made him feel so elated and exultant. Her frown deepened but he knew it was a ruse, the corners of her mouth twitched and he felt his smile get wider in response. “Keera.” He whispered almost silently but he knew she heard him because of the way her lips trembled. but then reality dawned and his only thought was to stop her. He didn’t think she would turn around and just vanish. He vowed to himself that he would get his revenge. He pulled his coat tighter and strengthened his resolve. He sat in his spacious living room with a glass of whiskey. He had developed quite a taste for it. Moving towards the built-in bar he poured himself a double shot of vodka laced with gin and attempted to shut thoughts of Keera out if his mind. He was quite successfully thinking about his family when a tentative knock sounded on his door. He groaned, got up and managed to get there all in one piece, no thanks to the vodka. After struggling with the simple bolt he yanked the door open to find her standing right there. Forgetting himself, he felt a wide smile spread across his face.“Miss me?”The cautious smile left her beautiful face instantly. “You’re drunk?”“And loving every single moment of it,” he cocked his head to the side. “Especially now that you’re here.” He stepped aside and gestured vaguely around his apartment.She shook her head fervently. “No, I’m sorry—I should—just came to say—”Her words were abruptly cut off when he instinctively leaned down and caught her very tempting lips with his own. She felt the heat of him pour into her and was helpless to stop it. His smell, his taste, his dark brooding look, his voice, had all been flooding her system since that moment on the street. She felt his hands slide up her body, over her shirt and suddenly decided to stop fighting. She ran her hands through his dark silky hair slowly, moaning as his mouth slid smoothly down her throat, leaving trails of dark fire. She woke to the light, her eyes quickly adjusting to the harsh sunlit room to find a pair of disgust filled eyes watching her. Clutching at the sheet she sat up. He was sitting in a chair across the room wearing only his pants holding a glass of strong smelling alcohol.“You kissed me first.” It came out of her hoarse throat before she could stop it.“You kissed me back. Why?” his voice was hard, firm.“I—I don’t know.” She spluttered“I laid your clothes out for you in the bathroom. Leave when you’re ready.” He got up and walked stiffly out of the room.She hated the hot, fat trails of tears trailing down her bare face. Hated how naked and vulnerable she felt. Maybe Rory had been right she thought as she silently got out of the gorgeous four poster bed with the sheet wrapped tightly around her naked form. Rory was Roarke’s cousin but it was truly a wonder that they were even related. Rory, she smiled faintly as she closed the bathroom door behind her. He was always kind and even tempered and honest and—dull. Keera cursed herself inwardly; Rory was just the type of man who she should be married to. This thing that she and Roarke had was unpredictable. And besides he didn’t even like her anymore. This morning she had been on the verge of shouting the truth at him, flinging it at him like a sharply pointed dagger. That was before she saw him glaring at her, shooting daggers of his own. That had burst her cloud of happiness quicker than a bullet from a gun. *****She found him sitting in the middle of the vast lounge reading the newspaper and sipping a cup of what smelled like coffee.“Did you find everything you needed?” he asked without looking up.She almost laughed out loud at that. His bathroom was better stocked than a pharmacy. “Yes, thank you.”“Sit,” he gestured to the chair opposite him. “Have something to eat.”“No... أقل

Miserably Keera lifted her aching head and found that she couldn’t. She fought with her hands and then her legs but she... المزيدMiserably Keera lifted her aching head and found that she couldn’t. She fought with her hands and then her legs but she couldn’t for the life of her break the cruel chains that held her upright to a block of steel. She saw the door open and a young, handsome man walk in. He wore a white lab coat with stains of blood and a thin smile on his face.“I’m so happy you’re awake! Now we can begin!” he proclaimed happily. She didn’t trust him or his vindictive happiness.“Begin what? I swear to god I’ll blast your head off if you don’t tell me who you are and where I am.”He laughed. “You can try but that collar around your neck is made of ancient metal, cursed by witches and blessed by the holy sea.“Who put you up to this?” she asked seething with anger.“Normally I would lie to you but since that collar only hinders physical magic you could probably still read my mind.” He watched shock spread over her beautiful treacherous face. “Yes, his Majesty King Roarke.She yanked and heaved against the stupid bonds but they wouldn’t budge. It was frustrating. It was infuriating. The doctor got out a leather bound pouch and drew the drawstrings open like it was an atomic bomb. He put his hand inside and carefully drew out a thin pointy needle. He looked so much like a mad scientist from a cartoon that she almost expected him to hold it up and laugh manically. He didn’t, he just walked quietly towards her with calculating eyes and slowly inserted it straight into the crease of her elbow. There was a loud, anguished noise of pure pain that reverberated inside the tiny, damp room. She looked around dazedly, wondering where that foul noise was coming from. She only realized that harsh, inhuman scream was coming from her when the hated man was inserting the third glinting needle into her stomach and she felt the wetness on her cheeks. The shock that she was actually crying cleared her head a little and she was able to grind her mouth shut against that terrible scream. A hazy dizziness passed through her head and blurred her vision. Afraid that she was going to pass out, she started channeling her pain, directing her thoughts. She concentrated on the main centre of red hot pain, absorbing and relishing in that beautiful intensity. She shut her eyes and merely hissed through her teeth when the next needle was being inserted. The cruel doctor’s eyebrows lifted in genuine surprise.“Ah, what a beautiful gem we have here.” He tapped her conversationally, on the elbow, with the needle. “You’re stronger than you look.”She lifted her head to the ceiling and studied the peeling paint as if it was the most fascinating sight in the world. She dozed in and out of consciousness. Every time she woke up she forgot about the hated metal needles embedded into her skin and moved. Even moving the slightest muscle caused her excruciating pain. Suddenly the door creaked and she groaned and tried to open her eyes, to muster up some small reserve of energy to bear the pain that the doctor was surely going to inflict. Her heavy eyelids lifted an inch and it felt as if they were weighted down by concrete. Another inch and she saw a blurry image move towards her. She heard a sound, a familiar yet strange sound coming from a long tunnel. Panicked she tried to listen harder but her ears seemed to be stocked up with cotton wool. The shape touched her forehead and the pain vaulted up to an all time high. Then higher still which seemed almost impossible. Fragmented thoughts ran through her head as the pain ebbed and flowed slightly out. She just lay there trying not to move. A dizzyingly sweet blackness finally washed over her and she felt tremendous relief at that. She began to float towards that amazing reprieve but was yanked suddenly back by a harsh sound. She found her own body, found that she could open her eyes and the blurry shapes turned slowly into a figure clothed in black from head to foot except the hands and piercing eyes. She knew those eyes! She tried to think how she did but her brain felt too sluggish and slow. This time as her eyelids drooped shut she was viciously torn back from the soothing blackness by an excruciating pain engulfing her entire body. It was white-hot and seared her mind into a sharp interest. The pain ebbed again but was brought straight back after a moment. It happened so many times she thought the torture would never end. She tried to scream out but couldn’t. That this horrible cycle would continue on into eternity. Then she couldn’t think at all for a while for the intense pain at her elbow was so consuming. Then it was gone. All of it! Her brain was stuck in numb awe. There was a pulling and tugging on her wrists and ankles but she whimpered feebly. She didn’t want to move! She never wanted to move again. Never! She wanted to sleep. Forever! Something firm was at her waist and she had a dizzying impression of the Earth blurring and swaying. Then jolting... أقل

“Well I’ll be damned. There he goes again. He just disappears, then when you think he’s gone, there he is again.... المزيد“Well I’ll be damned. There he goes again. He just disappears, then when you think he’s gone, there he is again. Freaking little roach. I should just kill him. Stomp him with one blow. Sometimes these little fellows need more then one. I have the power of life or death over the little bugger. Maybe I should keep him as a pet? It’s a bit lonely in this smelly hell hole, and my time could be running out.”“Senior, are you talking to yourself again?”The jailer approaches his cell.“Juan, you are my only friend. Tell me, what are my chances of getting the heck out of here?”“Prisoner Dan, your changes are not so good. Maybe 50/50. I would not wager much dinero on this. You did a bad thing amigo. You killed a policeman. A dirty man si, but a man. You kill, maybe they kill you. An eye for an eye. This is the way we do things in my country.”“What makes you think this way?’“Look outside. See the rope on the small bridge? That rope could have your name on it. Could be the Dan rope, or the rope for Dan. Or it could have another name on it.”He laughs and walks away. Dan looks at the rope, and shakes his head. He looks down and sees the roach facing his front boot.“There you are little amigo. I missed you. What are you up to? Having a nice day? My days are slowly falling off a cliff. I wonder if I can give you a message to take to my girlfriend in Boston? But I guess you can’t carry much. And then you would be gone, and I would have no one to talk to. We are friends, yes? Because if we’re not, I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch.”Dan turns to face his window, and watches the men prepare the hanging station. He notices how carefully they inspect the strength and durability of the whole structure. Did that rope have his name on it? Or would a rope by any other name smell much sweeter.”He looks down and the roach is still at the same place by his boot.“Well little fellow shall I tell you how I got here? Do you want to hear my story? (pause) I’ll take that as a yes.”I was watching President Kennedy make love to Marilyn Monroe on television. There she was in this incredible dress. Was it a dress, or a piece of see thru bliss? She was singing happy birthday to the chief executive in that sexy voice of hers. Surely she was having an affair with him, that’s what everyone was saying. There was talk of even more women. But Marilyn was the quintessence female of desire, and he seems to be having the time of his life.I was at a bar in the small town of Mucha. My college buddies were headed towards the beaches. I decided to hike the interior and observe the village life of the Mexican countryside. My grandfather was from this area, and I wanted to explore possible connections.The people at the restaurant were giving their full attention to the screen. As they watched this most attractive couple make goo goo eyes at each other. Where was Jackie? I was trying to think of the similarities and contrasts between these two icons, when a very pretty woman sat beside me and smiled.“Senior, you are not from this area, are you?”“No I’m from El Northe. My president is celebrating his birthday.”“He is a most handsome man. You both have the same eyes.”“And you seniorita have a magical blend of the first lady and that womanly goddess on the screen.”“You are too kind. My name is Julia. I am part owner of this cantina.”“I am Dan, and I own nothing but these clothes on my back.”“Perhaps without the clothes, you could own more. Excuse me, I need to take care of some customers.”What did she mean by that? I could own more without my clothes. Was she attempting to tell me something? Something sexual? I watched her work the tables. Looking at her now, she was a woman of shapely proportions, with a smile that said eat me. And I was very hungry. The hunger kept growing as she came closer and closer to my chair.“So Julia, do many Americans come to your little village?”“Very few. But when I see one so young and handsome, I like to give my full service.”“What do you get with full service?”“Here take a look at our full service menu. What were you thinking my American amigo? Are you hungry?”“My appetite is full of passion for your chili caliente con pollo.”“I will use the special sauce and make it muy caliente.”Dan watched as Julia got busy with the dinner crowd. When his dinner arrived he had to drink much agua to digest the spicy food. He was about to leave, when Julia came over to ask about his travels.“Where are you going now?’“I think maybe south towards the ocean. I might catch up with some of my friends.”“Do you know we have a few rooms upstairs for overnight stays. It will probably get dark by the time you reach the next town. Maybe rooms, maybe not. Would you like to take a look at our accommodations?“Why not. It might be a good idea. I could use some rest.”They start to walk up the stairs. Dan turns and notices all eyes are... أقل

Voices echoed in the hallway. Rory ducked behind an old cherry wardrobe and crouched in the darkness, slipping his hand into... المزيدVoices echoed in the hallway. Rory ducked behind an old cherry wardrobe and crouched in the darkness, slipping his hand into his robber’s pouch to quiet the bright clink of silver. The glow of candlelight grew, and through the chink in the door, he could see two maids, their heads together. The light and their low-pitched voices faded as they passed the door and disappeared around a corner. Rory straightened and allowed himself to breathe deeper. The family hadn’t returned yet.He crept to the door, his padded shoes making soft chuff sounds on the wood floor. They had been Bridgette’s idea--shoes that wouldn’t echo but had enough sole to protect his feet. Stealth was a thief’s greatest asset, and Rory had cause to silently praise her cleverness several times a night.Rory pulled the door open and edged into the hall. Faintly, he could hear the maids in the master suite. They had closed the door, but he knew what they were up to. Same as he was, in a way--lowly folk messing in the gentry’s things. In the maids’ case, they played in the mistress’s wardrobe as soon as the housekeeper was asleep. The difference was that they would put the things away good as new in an hour. Rory would not.The maids would get a fright in a few minutes when they rummaged in the lady’s jewelry cabinet and discovered that not everything was there. Rory wondered what they would do: start an uproar now, or hightail it back to bed and hope no one looked at them when the lady started shrieking in the morning? Probably the latter. Not even the trauma of a robbery would distract the housekeeper from punishing them in the first case.Rory started down the hall toward the attic stairs he’d gotten in from. Tonight’s round was nearly finished--in fact, he decided this would be his last house. He liked to clear off a couple hours before the rich folk started filtering home, while the city guards were still in stupor from the midnight lull.The attic door creaked as he pulled it open. He slipped through it and made for the window without bothering to pull it closed behind him. The night breeze greeted him as he pushed the window open and clambered out onto the roof. The rain had stopped, but the tiles shone slick in the lamplight filtering up from the street below.The Guard was on patrol. Rory picked them out as if it were pure daylight. One stood on the corner, hovering just out of the light. Rory could see him by the nervous shuffling movement and maroon tinge in the darkness there. Another crouched in a doorway across the street, obviously not realizing the nearby street lantern reflected off the brass ornaments on his cap.Maroon and gold. Rory supposed they’d picked the uniform colors to create an imposing presence, but the knock-on effect was that any member of the city’s underbelly could spot the buggers easily. Rory was quite proud of the nickname he’d thought up for them: Roonies. It had caught on among his friends, and now everyone on the south side of town used the name.The top of the city spread before Rory, blanketed in mist, a network of chimneys and roof ridges, gargoyles and puffs of smoke. Most of the rooftops in this part of the city were connected, or only a step away from each other--a convenient road for thieves. All Rory had to do was keep out of sight on a roof until he reached an alley that the patrols didn’t pay much attention to.Up here, the houses all looked the same. No matter how ornate their fronts, to Rory they were all tiled slopes and chimneys in the darkness. Not even the loot was different: a collection of gold and silver, jewels and ivory.Rory crouched at the edge of a roof and peered into the alley below. A pair of reflective eyes glinted from a gutter, and a rat scampered behind the woodpile that leaned against the wall beneath Rory. A cat yowled from the street side of the alley, but otherwise the darkness was still.Rory swung over the eaves and onto the woodpile. It shifted underneath his feet as he clambered down, the logs clinking woodenly. One rolled off the top as he jumped to the ground. He caught it and set it down at the base of the pile before setting off down the alley.Now that he was on the ground, he became aware of the gnawing feeling in his stomach. Bridgette would be cooking up a meal of whatever she’d managed to buy cheaply in the market. He hoped it wasn’t cabbage again.Turning down Tayrun alley, he quickened his pace to a trot. The alley served as a major conduit between the high class, middle class, and low class districts. It was a wonder the Roonies hadn’t pegged it for watching yet, but then they were never quite attuned to the true workings of the city’s ne’er-do-wells.The way ahead grew darker as it progressed into the dodgier side of town. There were no streetlamps nearby to bleed into the alley, and the smoke from hearth fires was fouler, and hung thick in the mist. Rory didn’t slow his pace--he knew the alley as well as he knew his... أقل

Some women would give anything to be beautiful, but Myra was cursed with beauty so extreme that it gave her no peace. Her... المزيدSome women would give anything to be beautiful, but Myra was cursed with beauty so extreme that it gave her no peace. Her hair alone doomed her. Each strand differed slightly in hue and texture from the next. Color flowed and sparkled through her moving tresses like wind sweeping across a field of wildflowers. Her skin darkened or paled according to the light or her mood. No one could classify her race. Some men swore her nose could alter definition when they turned their heads, preventing them from memorizing the beloved features. Only her body never changed its welcoming contours. Her hips remained generous, breasts full, waist narrow. Age made no inroads on her beauty; it simply enhanced, richened, buffed and glossed the glow.Gallant men galloped to the rescue every time she leaned out the top window of her tower to scrub the window panes. Young women hid among her rose bushes leaving gifts of poetry, seed cakes and candles so that her front stoop never ceased to resemble an altar. Once, two would-be knights hacked each other to death on her front lawn. She had no friends, no lovers, no gossips, no mentors; not even a paid companion. The servants inevitably succumbed to bribes or sold stories and pictures to sleazy magazines and newspapers. Her beauty left women fearful, bashful, envious or enraged. Ordinary men believed her a goddess and never dared an approach. Assertive ones tried to take, own, protect or exploit her. Experiencing no relationships, she lacked social skills and so rejected as false the few genuine offers of friendship she did encounter.She traveled constantly for several years, hoping to avoid notice, but gaping and grasping never ceased. Myra retreated to armchair explorations searching for remote outposts, which no one else dreamed of visiting. In preparation, she ordered ice picks, down sleeping bags, mosquito nets and a jackknife weighing twelve ounces, which transformed into forty-four configurations. Night after night, she poured over terrain maps, plotted travel routes, reserved airplane tickets and camp grounds; more often than not cancelling plans at the last minute.Gradually she stopped going out altogether, replaced the window panes with silvered one-way mirrors, raised a bramble hedge around the property and imported moles to live beneath the smooth green turf. After several years the memory of her great beauty faded, becoming a tall tale infrequently told.The moles saved her. One morning, as she lay slumped across the kitchen table sound asleep with an REI catalog crumbled beneath her, her arm jerked and sent cold coffee splashing across her nose. A large black shadow slid across the window. Mopping her face with a dish towel, Myra opened the door to the back yard and saw a trio of small birds in pursuit of an angry crow. The tiny body of a mole lay sprawled on the ground below. A bright pearl of blood caught her eye. She ran barefoot across the wet grass and slid her hand beneath the wounded creature.The forgotten lore of her childhood returned in a rush. Holding her right hand steady and flat she gathered clean tea towels and emptied a cookie tin with her left. A cushioned box, she remembered, was vital to the operation. She set the mole in its new nest and rummaged in the junk drawer for cheesecloth, antibiotic ointment, magnifying glass and nose dropper. Examination revealed only one wound, a deep stab from beak or talon, which seemed to have penetrated only the fleshy part of the upper thigh. Now what did moles eat? Ah! Earthworms! She thought that chicken broth might do instead and almost cried with joy as the animal swallowed three drops before falling to sleep.The mole recovered and resumed its old routines. Myra never did. She stopped sending away for camping equipment and began ordering binoculars, cameras and field guides to local birds, plants and animals. The hours spent in surveillance led her to devise observation platforms that angled out from the tower windows. She planted ivy around the base of the tower and it soon covered the walls and platforms with a screen of thick leaves. The ivy worked out so well, Myra continued to dig and plant‑ butterfly bushes, hickory trees, raspberry canes, mint, bayberry, wild thyme, sunflowers and sassafras. The world inside the bramble hedge became a wild snarl of overlapping limbs and vines with only one narrow green tunnel leading to the oversize mail box outside her gate. During the quiet winter months, she continued her studies by listening for hours to taped bird song, coyote cry and cricket call until she could whistle, crackle and croak in a hundred new languages.One March day a flock of wild geese flew across Myra’s private jungle. Their honks and hollers fell into the overgrown garden and became trapped there, fluttering around Myra like a cloud of invisible hands.“Hurry up, hurry up!”“Remember that delicious weed on the lake by…”Let’s go, let’s go!”“Faster, gosling, you’ll fall... أقل

After reading the newest correspondence from her nemesis, Malice pushed up her glasses with a wrinkled hand and glowered. At... المزيدAfter reading the newest correspondence from her nemesis, Malice pushed up her glasses with a wrinkled hand and glowered. At least she still had one advantage over that puerile cherub: she knew who he was and how to find him. Her stealthy machinations had guaranteed that. She was tempted to scowl in celebration, but the gesture just seemed…indulgent. There was still the problem of her falling behind lately.Malice lived at 33 Highcrest Circle under the assumed name of Edna Bardenheuer. She sat in her small, modest house, in an armchair made of jagged glass, and wished there were someone nearby she could whack with her cane. Preferably a certain chubby, cherubic individual.She supposed she should write a response to the latest note. It was only polite. With a resigned grumble, she pulled a sheet of parchment from the ether, stabbed herself in the wrist with a sharpened quill, and dipped her implement in the flowing, crimson “ink:” Dear Cupidiot,How are you? You are a stupid, sissy dumdum. Eat cement and die. The end.Sincerely,MaliceA sigh came out as she finished writing. Even her put-downs were slipping. This simply was not acceptable. Not for the queen of all things libelous; the person who set the bar for maligners and political candidates everywhere. But today the queen was in an especially lazy mood.In fact, she was debating whether it was worth the effort to send the message when she heard a loud, sputtering motor and a screeching of brakes from outside. Through the window, she saw that the mail truck had arrived. A weatherworn, sixtyish man with an iron-gray pate got out and shuffled up the long driveway toward the mailbox. Malice had purposefully set her mailbox at the end of the driveway, as far from the street as it could possibly get. Directly behind a thornbush, but elevated so it could be seen easily. The man kept his head down as he walked, cursing all the way before completing his task and tearing off in his rickety vehicle. His loud expletives could be heard long after he vanished from the spot.Malice watched with interest. This was the new mailman, if she wasn’t mistaken. The one who was rumored to tear up all Valentine’s Day cards that entered his care. But thinking about the previous mailman made her feel an inexplicable sense of loss. She realized suddenly that in all the years he’d made his rounds to her house, she had never once abused him properly. Barely even noticed his existence. She’d been so busy hating the people in the surrounding community that she forgot to hate the ones closest to her. And in her case, the mailman was the closest person. Really, she thought, if a person can’t hate those within their own personal sphere…well then, that person’s got no business calling themselves a misanthrope!Her regret over those wasted opportunities lent her a sudden resolve. She could not squander her resources again! And maybe a little scheming at home would give her the practice she needed to get back into real-world mischief with vim and vigor. Now…she contemplated. What would a new mailman hate worse than anything else?It wasn’t long before she wandered over to a different location: down the street, where she stopped in front of a sign on a neighbor’s lawn. “FREE PUPPIES,” it said, with the “S” written backwards in a nauseatingly cutesy manner. “To a good home.” She barely paid attention as the owner cooed nonsensically at the box of yipping beasts in the open garage.“They’re adorable, aren’t they? Aren’t they precious?”“Diamonds are precious,” Malice snorted. “Coal is even better.”The perky woman was unfazed. “D’you know which one you’d like?”“That one.” Malice pointed without looking. A warm, furry bundle was lifted from the box and pressed into her hands. It turned out to be a tiny Doberman pinscher with twitching ears and soulful, brown eyes.“They make good attack dogs, don’t they?”“Oh, yes.” The woman laughed nervously. “But—”“Tell me, then. What’s a good, proper name for a dog?”“Uh—” The babbling fool was caught off guard again. “Well, there’s the usual—Spot, Fido, Max, Rex…”“Wrecks!” Malice echoed. Now that was a name that held interest. It was wonderfully, deliciously…evocative. And hopefully portentous of things to come.“And…” Malice wanted to know, “he’ll grow bigger than this, won’t he?”Her peppy neighbor nodded uneasily.So it came to pass that the once-independent malefactor acquired her very first henchman. The next afternoon, she was waiting, ready to release Wrecks into the driveway at a moment’s notice. Just waiting for that truck and its ornery occupant to arrive. After all, weren’t canines known as Mailman’s Worst Enemy?###Unbeknownst to Malice, however, she was being observed. Word from Mother had been handed down. Edna Bardenheuer of 33 Highcrest Circle was reaching the age where finding love was nearly impossible. Truth be... أقل

Gilroy limped backwards, uncertain of what had just happened. Cullen’s blade had found the exposed flesh just above the... المزيدGilroy limped backwards, uncertain of what had just happened. Cullen’s blade had found the exposed flesh just above the chausses of his right leg, but his enemy did not press his advantage. Instead, Cullen of Clan Ultan cautiously backed away. The wound to Gilroy’s inner thigh was not deep, but it bled badly. He knew that it would not be long before he became too weak to stand. Perhaps that is what he waits for, Gilroy grimly mused.The duel had begun on horseback with lance and shield, but neither man had claimed victory, so they had dismounted while their horses had been led from the field. The two had then begun a dance of swords, one that had lasted for far longer than Gilroy would have liked. He was twice the age of his opponent, but had been thrice as fatigued when his defenses had lowered enough to allow Cullen’s blade inside. Gilroy was not a wealthy man, so the armor he wore was modest. It contained several weak points, and Cullen had deftly found one.Panting and near to exhaustion, Gilroy spared a brief glance to his left. Brenna, as the accuser, sat in an isolated wooden chair just above the hedge that encircled the field. There was a large crowd gathered in the stands beyond the hedges, but none dared to venture close to Gilroy’s wife. Her stomach was round with child, and no one knew who the father truly was. Young and fair, Brenna was of an age with Cullen, though her emerald eyes, filled with concern, were not for the younger combatant, but for Gilroy. Her face was ashen while her lip trembled with fear, for she saw the stream of blood that continued to spill from her husband’s leg.Gilroy returned his attention to Cullen. If he lost, if the gods found him to be unworthy, his wife would suffer as well. He could not, would not allow this to happen.Throwing aside everything he had ever learned of swordplay, Gilroy of Clan Caedmon loosed a scream and rushed forward. This berserker’s charge caught Cullen unaware and allowed Gilroy the chance to wade in close enough to do the unexpected. Instead of using his blade, which could never hope to penetrate the full armor that his opponent wore, Gilroy reached out with his free hand to take hold of the haute-piece at Cullen’s right shoulder. Holding firm to his enemy’s armor, he then quickly backpedaled. Cullen, no doubt stunned by this improvised and unorthodox move, stumbled and fell forward, managing only to swivel his body around as he fell so that he landed on his back instead of his chest.The armor that had offered Cullen so much protection was now the source of his doom, as its massive weight held him firmly in place on the ground.Gilroy did not repeat the mistake that Cullen had made only a few moments earlier. Pressing his advantage, he fell atop his downed foe to straddle his chest with a knee to either side. He then used his sword to strike Cullen’s blade from his hand.Now that his opponent was at his mercy, Gilroy had only to find a way to finish him off for true. Twirling his blade around, he positioned it so that he could drive the tip downward, but his ever-mounting fatigue and the thickness of his enemy’s armor prevented him from striking a killing blow. The best he could manage was a few minor dents, all while Cullen squirmed and rocked in a vain effort to fight his way free.I will bleed to death before I can strike a killing blow, Gilroy fretted. This thought gave him pause. Perhaps this was to be the judgment of the gods. Perhaps he was meant to meet his end on this field.He spared another glance towards his wife. It was good that she could not see his face beneath his helm, for his eyes would have betrayed him. If he failed, if his blade was not true this day, it would mean that Brenna’s accusation had been false.“No,” he said through gritted teeth as he returned his attention to Cullen. “Admit your guilt!” he screamed as he again stabbed at his opponent’s breast plate, this time to place a dent squarely in the eye of the rampant fox of Clan Ultan.“I have committed no crime!” Cullen shouted in defiance.“Liar!” Gilroy screamed as he began stabbing at Cullen’s helm. The blows proved to be ineffectual, as they merely slid off to either side as his enemy continued to wiggle and squirm.A change of tactic was needed, and quickly, so Gilroy focused his attention upon the lock that held Cullen’s visor in place. His first blows bounced harmlessly aside, but Cullen sensed the danger and began to writhe even more beneath the weight upon his chest. Gilroy quickly realized that his blade was not going to work, so he shifted his sword around so that he could use the hilt to land a rapid flurry of hammer blows, all born of desperation and need.The lock broke free.A quick flash of Gilroy’s blade flipped the visor up to reveal the handsome, young face beneath. Quivering with battle rage, Gilroy glared downward into the dark eyes that had bewitched his wife. “Admit your guilt,” he growled as he... أقل

I will never harm you. The words distantly echoed out of the crevasses of Murphy Woods’ mind, but the waves of pain rolled... المزيدI will never harm you. The words distantly echoed out of the crevasses of Murphy Woods’ mind, but the waves of pain rolled them out to sea, unheard.Blood bubbled up through his fingers. He dug his nails deeper into his gut and pushed his flesh back into place. He hesitated to think that the hem of his shirt had been stuffed down into the laceration, but he wasn’t certain of anything except the liquid warmth spreading across his hand.The shadows of the overhead branches played across his face. A few birds danced through the drying leaves overhead. Their chirping, so delightful in years past, wailed explosively in his ears.Blood, his blood, softly trickled down onto his forehead. He leaned his head back and stretched his gaze up to the sharpened stick that had cut him. The sunlight glistened along its crimson coating.A groan rolled around in the back of the old man’s throat. I will never harm you. Bitch was a liar after all.He relaxed his head against his stone pillow and thought of Avalonis.Avalonis. Of Avalon it translated. Whatever the hell that had meant to her. Hadn’t meant a thing to him.Overhead, the forest blurred. The branches twisted out further, the leaves fattened and flattened themselves into broad umbrellas. The sky paled from sapphire to azure. The song of the birds and insects surged in his ears.Brazil. Forty damn years ago. The locals wouldn’t take him any further up some unnamed tributary, so he’d gone alone. He’d taken his only backpack, machete, compass and camera. Spent days winding film in and out of that thing, cheerfully cursing the mosquitoes.And Avalonis had found him.He blinked and stared at her through the veil of memory. Here had been this girl, with skin and hair as bright as moonlight, tiptoeing through the rainforest. She’d been singing, and he was suddenly sure that the local fruit couldn’t be trusted.She twirled through the trees like a witch dancing between the raindrops, laughing and singing and gyrating over the mosses and flowers. All Woods did was give this girl a ride, when they had found roads at least. He hadn’t heard of any missing persons or any plane crashes in the area. He’d guided this girl – who barely spoke a word, and smiled as if every moment was the happiest of her life – down to the river, down to the road, and out to the ocean.She’d walked out knee-deep into the waves and began her dance anew. The waves crashed around her, splashing high and outlining the curves on her body, but never raining on her. Higher and higher they came, and the wind whipped them all the faster.Woods glanced up at the clouds boiling overhead. He brought his gaze back to earth, feeling the tension drawing up through his body. The storm had arrived.Avalonis was gone. He’d swum out as far as he dared, but the girl was just gone. Crying, he’d crawled out of the ocean, and the water dripped off his clothes.Drip. Drip. His blood tasted like salt as it slid down from the stick onto his face. Had it been real? Had that dream where the tree came to him dressed as a middle-aged woman been real? That’s when he’d first heard the words:I will never harm you.The earth would never harm him, he’d been promised. People certainly could and would, but not the world.It had just been a dream. He tried to sit up again, but agony pushed him back down onto the dirt. The branches shifted over Woods in the breeze, and he strained to hear her voice in the wind.It had just been a dream.But the tsunami, eight years later...The wind rolled through the trees overhead, only to be replaced by the rolling of the waves. He’d been out photographing and surveying some reefs off the coast of American Samoa. He cocked an ear to the wind, waiting for her song. He always imagined it, but had never heard it since.There was no time for a warning. Some underground volcano had rumbled awake, a fault line had shifted, and there were eight massive waves ripping through the ocean. The roar overtook Woods and became his universe.Before the first wave smashed their boat, the air darkened and the world grew cold and foggy, despite how the equatorial region. He’d always assumed it was just fear. But, for just one slow heartbeat, it tasted like the misty waters of the north Atlantic. Of Avalon.He’d grabbed a life vest in both hands and clung. The massive arm of the tsunami instantly crushed the boat and all its passengers in a crackle louder than thunder. It shoved him overboard and into the sea. He’d clung to the life vest.Underwater, sound faded away. He looked up and saw the wave over his head, curling through the sea like dozens of tornadoes tearing through the prairie. And he heard her voice, curling through the water.Overhead, the waves rolled, tearing apart the surface of the world. Woods stared, lost and less than a nail clipping against the power of the sea. Then he heaved out all the air in his chest. He didn’t want to prolong this. Tiny bubbles rose toward the... أقل

An oak tree stands, static and baked in the airless heat of August. From the top of the field, Daniel stares at it. His... المزيدAn oak tree stands, static and baked in the airless heat of August. From the top of the field, Daniel stares at it. His tears have dried on his cheeks, and he begins to walk slowly down the slope, drawn as always by the tall tree and the promise of whatever adventure there may be to be found. The adventure is always the same, to climb up into the branches and sit, looking out into the Shropshire hills. To think a little and not to fall, that is his adventure. He can still hear his mother’s voice ringing around the cottage. Daniel knows he is a bad boy. He knows it is wrong to climb the tree. But he will anyway. He reaches the old table that has stood against the trunk of the tree since his first ascent some two years ago. He looks up through the leaves and squints at the sun, and then gives the table a shake, testing it as he always does before climbing. It has become less stable this year, but it will still take his weight and serve its purpose, to act as a step, as a base camp on the route to the summit. From there he can reach the low branches, and there will be a scuffle as his trainers scrape the bark and he pulls himself into the tree proper. He unbuttons his blue shirt, swings it over his shoulder, and begins to climb... ----------------------------------------- Now Daniel is sitting next to his mother in the waiting room. His legs swing to and fro, not quite reaching the floor, and he shivers because it is quite cold. He looks about for his blue shirt, sure somehow that they had bought it with them, but it is not to be seen. His mother stares ahead, ignoring him, and fiddles with the strap of her handbag, making it squeak. There is one other person waiting, an old lady who sits across from them, slumped in her chair, and apparently dozing. Daniel watches the slow descent of her chin as it moves down towards her chest, momentarily pausing with every slow breath. Her eyes are slits, maybe shut, maybe not. The door opens suddenly making his mother start. She is frightened a lot these days, not herself, and he wishes he could make her better. She will be better soon though, she will see that he is really a good boy. That’s why they are here. A smart young nurse with a clipboard enters and smiles. “Mrs Chesterton? You can go in now. Dr Miller is waiting for you.” His mother nods, but does not get up straight away; instead she takes two deep slow breaths and rolls her shoulders. Daniel thinks he sees the spark of tears in her eyes again and he wants to hug her, wants to make it right. The nurse waits patiently, still smiling, and as his mother slowly rises to her feet, Daniel makes the small jump to the floor and follows her across the room. As they pass the nurse he looks up at her. The smile has slipped away and she marks her clipboard with a pen. We are ticked, Daniel thinks, and remembers school. A tick for a good picture. A tick for spelling. Now a tick for standing up when asked. No more ticks today though, he is naughty. A bad boy, and they are here to deal with that somehow. It is just as cold in Dr Miller’s office, and it smells of flowers and medicine. His mother sits in the chair opposite the Doctor’s desk. She perches on the edge, even though the chair is comfy and made for sitting back. Daniel stands beside her and regards the doctor. He thinks that the doctor is a young man, but that his thick glasses make him look older. “Mrs Chesterton. Please sit back and relax. I want to have a nice long chat about Daniel. I hope that you will be willing to talk to me today.” His mother catches her breath and glances down to her side. Her lips move but no words come out. She slowly eases back into the chair. “Can I call you Brenda? I’m Michael.” “I..” Mother starts and falters. “Yes Doctor. But I told the others. I.. I can’t.. I don’t know what to say. “ She lifts her right hand and Daniel thinks for a minute she is going to take him and hug him. He wants that, but the hand drops back into her lap, lifeless. Dr Miller – Michael – Daniel reminds himself, nods and sits back. “No one is going to try and force anything from you Brenda. The situation seems impossible for you now. But the most.........” His words become a hum, and Daniel thinks about just one of them. ‘Situation’. He thinks he knows what a situation is. This situation has made his mother sad and his Dad angry. Daniel knows he is responsible but doesn’t know how to make it right. The doctor has finished speaking. Daniel didn’t hear what was said, but he is listening again now. The doctor rests his chin on his fingertips.“Can you tell me what you feel now about what Daniel did?”“Oh God I went through all this mind crap with the social. What do want me to say? That I told him again and again not to go into the tree and he disobeyed me? That he was ..naughty for doing it?” There. Daniel sighs and moves closer. She used... أقل

The Arak was nowhere to be seen. It was off hunting, somewhere in flight high over the dun-colored plains of Koutar, riding... المزيدThe Arak was nowhere to be seen. It was off hunting, somewhere in flight high over the dun-colored plains of Koutar, riding the thermal currents that marked the approaching hour of twilight. Waxman stared out over the limitless expanse of the Koutar spread out beneath him. The air was filled with a soft, golden radiance, a gentle effusion of light that preceded the coming of dark and of the cold.Waxman fought to subdue his excitement. He had been tracking the Arak for weeks now, studying its habits, following the pattern of its flight. He had narrowed the focus of his search to this one area, an elevated plateau of fractured rock and wind swept rubble that was bleak and isolated even as such terms were understood in the Koutar.Waxman pushed his way through a tangle of brush and dried bracken, made his way up a steep incline, using his hands to help him climb. He planted his feet with care, testing the ground beneath him, knowing how treacherous it was and how thin the margin for safety. At length he staggered out on to a narrow stone ledge that afforded a view of all the country laid out below.There he discovered the nest - a score of eggs nestled protectively in a little hollow of kirrel grass. It was a sight that few men had ever beheld, that stirred Waxman to the depths and set his heart to racing. The eggs resembled so many precious stones set out for Waxman to inspect, each bearing its own particular mark of distinction. One was a delicate coffee color dusted with a spray of gold freckles. Another, smaller egg, was the color of the sky just at daybreak: a distant, ethereal shade of blue, so tentative and precarious that one was certain it could not last, certain it must be washed away by the gathering strength of the sun.The trick now was to study each egg in turn, weighing their respective qualities and merits, and select only the one egg, the Alpha prime. Waxman must fight the impulse to seize the first egg that his hand fell upon and flee, making good his escape before the return of the Arak. He stood spellbound examining the nest, intoxicated by the opportunity that presented itself, terrified lest he allow it to slip through his fingers. All of the eggs would bear chicks, it was true. But the vast majority were beta offspring, feeble imitations that would never fulfill the promise of their ancestry or achieve their true potential. They would not fly with the grace and blinding speed of the pure Arak, would not hunt with the same matchless ferocity and courage. They were fit only for yard fowl, were fit only for the cooking pot.Which egg? Waxman lifted the nearest from the nest of kirrel grass. It was an imperial shade of violet, recalled twilight as the blue egg recalled the dawn. Waxman balanced the egg between his hands, marveled at the pure, elliptical symmetry of it, the perfection of form, the harmony of the whole. Thus too was the Arak; its grace, cunning and strength all harnessed to the act of flight, geared to the supreme fulfillment of the hunt. Surely it must be this egg and no other. Form and function were one. The logic could not be more plain or incisive. And yet . . .Waxman set the egg down, lifted another. The shell was a burnt, scoured tan, the interior, dense, weighty, compact, holding much but disclosing little. This, too, might be said of the Arak. The hunter never revealed all of its strategy, always held something in reserve. The Arak was more than tendon, ligament and sinew. It transcended talon and beak, was greater than the mere sum of its parts. It retained, always, some quality of the unknown, some particle of the intangible.Logic alone would not disclose the Alpha, that was apparent. Each egg might in some manner be interpreted as best representing the Arak. It was yet another facet of the legend that surrounded the Arak, the mystery, that it produced so many eggs. No one knew why. Was it only a matter of camouflage, an elaborate subterfuge designed to fool potential predators? Or was it something more? The dazzling profusion of eggs, their beauty and variety, seemed almost a conscious act of defiance, a calculated attempt to alleviate the barren sameness of the Koutar, to redress its searing emptiness.Yet, paradoxically, in resorting to such a subterfuge the Arak revealed much about itself. Given time and opportunity Waxman might unravel all that was to be known about the great predator. He might pour over the eggs as a scholar over a trove of books, might read and decipher the meaning of each. In the course of such study he could compile a profile that, when complete, would be indistinguishable from that of the Arak itself.Waxman looked up. He thought he heard the beating of wings, sensed the fluid rush of air that would mark the approach of the Arak. He crouched in terror, drawing his cloak over his head. To be caught plundering the nest of the Arak – it would mean certain death. A sharp scent of fear filled Waxman’s nostrils. He crawled along the... أقل

Magic was ruining her life.Ariana scowled at the cherry blossoms, at the cheerful, chirpy birds and the verdant grass. She... المزيدMagic was ruining her life.Ariana scowled at the cherry blossoms, at the cheerful, chirpy birds and the verdant grass. She hated it all. She hated the one-room smoky cottage, the freshly-tilled fields, even the warm, delicious sunlight. Most of all, she hated the letter in her pocket. “Miss Ariana Summerset,” it said, “We request the pleasure of your company.” It was signed by the King.Most girls—like Ariana’s neighbor, Kate—would have been ecstatic. They lusted for any magic, let alone Ariana’s particular Gift: silver, the rarest and the most powerful. But silver magic was a cheat. It was wild, uncontrollable. It did things you didn’t want, like turn a perfectly lovely silk dress into boots. (One muddy boot, to be exact.) Or a fragrant lamb stew into trout. (Ariana hated fish.) In short, the magic could give you anything, except what you asked for.Ariana pulled out the letter. She ripped it in half and let the pieces flutter to the ground. For good measure, she stomped on the creamy, ruffled paper. But she still had to go.* * *Amy stared at the clock. 2:31 A.M. Dear God, when would her shift be over? She inhaled sharply, which was a mistake. The doctors’ workroom smelled like chili fries from the cafeteria. Amy would never be cruel enough to force anyone to breathe that—disgusting greasy-paprika-French fries—for hours and hours. Who was responsible for this? She hoped he died of an early heart attack. (It was obviously a guy. No big loss there.)2:33 A.M. Amy wondered why she became a doctor in the first place. Back then, she had no clue what it entailed. She was simply good at tests. Now she had time to regret every right answer, every elegantly-worded and poetic essay. If only her SATs or MCATs or USMLEs were lower, dammit. Then she wouldn’t be in this fix.* * *Ariana stood at the entrance to the palace. She had a distinct feeling of foreboding. Kings did not summon without purpose. And while the King of her country was old, fat, lame, and slightly demented, he was still King.Perhaps, she was about to become a Queen. Her beauty was famed throughout the land. Ariana smirked; she had smallish eyes, a pug nose, freckles, and curly hair. Her arms were skinny, her chest flat, and her legs long and muscular. No one was going to crown her anytime soon. Queen Who Looks Like a Horse, maybe.No, the King wanted her for her magic, her incredible Gift. The cloud of joy that ruined her cooking and made her the most useless wizard alive. I wish I was Katharina Hoe! Kate had green magic and grew sugary-sweet, snap-in-your-mouth corn. Her family had been farmers for generations. Kate was engaged to the blacksmith’s son, which was an old tradition, especially since Kate was pregnant too.The blacksmith’s son was attractive, but Ariana knew he would run to fat. In a couple of years, his forearms would be flabby. Come to think of it, Ariana did not envy Kate that much.The guards ushered her in.* * *“Code Blue. Adult Code Blue.”When Amy heard the loud-speaker, she was momentarily stunned. A few seconds later, her code pager rang, and she sparked into action. Someone was dead in the Neurosciences unit. Shit. Double shit. And I was having such a quiet night! Amy dashed out the door and took the stairs. She might look like a horse, but she could beat the elevator any day.By the time she got to the dead man’s room, a crowd had gathered. A nurse was doing chest compressions. They were the slowest, wimpiest chest compressions Amy had ever seen. She shoved the nurse aside and started counting in her head: “One, a-two, a-three, a-four.” Fast, like a real pulse.Amy felt a rib break under her hands. Craaack. Another rib snapped. After two minutes, she realized she was standing in a puddle of vomit. The dead man had vomited before he died. Her hands were slick with green, foul stuff. Oh well. Can’t be worse than chili fries.But it was.Amy looked down at the man she was ruthlessly punishing. He was seventy-two, paralyzed and mindless after a stroke. Amy had the distinct feeling that it was his time to go. And yet, here she was, saving his life.* * *“My son.”The young man lay motionless on the bed. His cheeks were hollow, his skin pale. He was beautiful, Ariana thought, even now: a winter’s child.The fever had taken its toll.The King was beside himself with grief.“Please save him,” the King begged.“I’m sorry,” Ariana said, “You need a real wizard.”The King closed his eyes, and Ariana realized that the real wizards had come—and gone—and she was his last, wild hope.“Give me some time alone with him,” she said.As soon as the King left, Ariana’s plan was to escape now, while she still had a chance. But she couldn’t tear herself away from the Prince. He was much better-looking than the blacksmith’s son.She folded her arms. “Hello,... أقل

The funny thing is it didn’t happen by accident. In the movies, zombies were always caused by some government spill of... المزيدThe funny thing is it didn’t happen by accident. In the movies, zombies were always caused by some government spill of toxic materials. Or a supernatural explanation is given. Hell, for instance, no longer has any room, and so the dead walk the earth. If they could get in some slap at Christianity, they did that too. You know those Jesus freaks were always into the end of the world.But when it happened for real, it was just because a few immature morons thought it would be funny.Before everything went dark, we used to have computers. These were complex machines that performed a number of different tasks. Most people used computers responsibly. Well, maybe that’s stretching it. The overwhelming majority of people used the most outstanding technology ever designed by man to view pornography or argue about politics or say terrible things about each other, but they generally didn’t try to destroy each other’s computers and work and lives. The ones who did we called hackers. They created things called viruses, a kind of machine sickness, just for the hell of it, just to piss people off, damage for damage’s sake, and these viruses destroyed computers. My machine caught a virus once and it corrupted a file of a novel I had been working on for three years. The entire tale was lost and I almost went bankrupt because of it.By the way, I’m a writer, a novelist. Or I used to be. I guess I still am, which is why I’m writing this, when there is no one left to read it.I can’t be sure of that, but I believe it to be so. I don’t think I’m the last man on earth, but I must be one of the last, and those of us who are left are isolated from each other with millions of zombies between. It’s a little like extra-terrestrial life. They may be out there, but there is so much space separating us that they might as well not be.Right at the moment, the extra-terrestrials are probably pretty happy about that.Anyway, it was the hackers, the anarchists, who created the zombie virus. The bastards even pompously took credit for it. Like it was an accomplishment. Like terrorists who boasted about blowing up pregnant ladies in pizza parlors. These “zombie hackers”, as they called themselves, took their inspiration from the horror movies, like some NASA scientists took their inspiration from Star Wars. They experimented on animals, then on a human, had a breakthrough, and finally they lost control of it. At first, they probably thought it was funny. And then their mothers tried to eat them. And then their mothers did eat them. I caught all of this on the radio before everything slid to static.I’m locked up in this house. Stroke of luck, really, that I have survived. It has more to do with my father than me. He was sure that the world was going to come to an end. Despite my protests about wasting my inheritance on a monument to paranoia, he built this fortress in the boonies with enough supplies to last one man and his family several lifetimes, if eating beans doesn’t drive them batty first. There are seven spare generators and enough oil lamps and batteries to light up Texas. It even has recyclable water. Once you get over the idea that you’re drinking your own recycled bath water and urine, it doesn’t even taste bad.I remember him building it. Mom had died the year before, and Dad seemed to lose his mind. Fresh from my first year of college, I told him, “You’ve either gone too far or not far enough. You can survive a nuclear blast, but what about the radiation? You can hide from the religious revolution, maybe, but what will you do when they set up the theocracy? Hell, they’ll overrun this house and convert it into a coven.”He told me I would see someday. He wasn’t worried about nuclear war, he said, and he was devout enough to think that prayer in school wasn’t the apocalypse. What he feared he never directly said, which only added to my worries about his sanity. Yet unlike my professors at school, he seemed untroubled by politics, the rise of religious fundamentalism, the election of Republicans, or anything like that. He was almost dismissive when I brought these subjects up, as if they didn’t matter, and yet kept building the fortress and adding to it. Until lung cancer took him.I remember standing over his grave, a smirk on my still young face, saying, “How’d that fortress help you with this end of the world scenario?”I inherited the fortress, of course, but didn’t move in. Who would? There was no school for the boys for 40 miles and my wife hated the place on sight. Not that I could blame her. It looks like the House of Usher. I tried to sell it a couple of times, but nobody wanted to pay what it was worth. So, I wrote my novels here, the isolation being useful for that, and this is what I was doing when the zombie virus hit the fan.There’s not even a phone here. No TV. I even removed the internet. My only contact with the outside... أقل

Most people shy away as soon as they see me. That is why I tend to stay at home in my forest which everyone says is... المزيدMost people shy away as soon as they see me. That is why I tend to stay at home in my forest which everyone says is bewitched. The young man knocking on my door almost shocks me. He probably wants a job doing. Business has been slow this month. Yes I better sell myself here to gain some coinage. I step out from my door, into the light. My caller looks hopefully at me.“Good afternoon,” I say and hold out a hand for him to shake which he reaches out to touch. Unfortunately we never make contact because of my next words. “Who can I resurrect for you today?”Cue the wide eyed expression. His heart, I am guessing, is about to leap from his ribcage. The reality of his situation must be setting in.“Look at this face. Wait a sec let me take down my hood... See? Would you really mistrust these shining blue eyes?”Sure he would.Okay so yeah my job is kind a taboo. I do bring people back from the dead. Someone has to do such a job and I have the talent. No one chooses their talent; they stumble across it as they go through life. I get such a thrill raising someone from the dead and it makes me smile when a customer sees a loved one come back to life. I’m doing a good thing at least for a few seconds until my customer’s realisation kicks in; their loved one is all scabby and rotting, not themselves at all. I suppose I’d look rough too if I’d been buried under ground. After the walking corpse is up and about it is no longer my problem. If anyone is bad here it must be the customer for even thinking about coming to me for my services. You think I have a guilty conscience? Maybe I used to but you build up a thick skin in this game.“So did you want me to bring someone back to life for you? I would need ten gold pieces and five silver. Expensive, I am well aware, business has been slow recently you see.”I have a feeling I have made a grave mistake.“No. Shame, I could use a thrill right now. Let me guess you lost your way and ended up here and now you’ve grown as pale as death because you have realised I am a necromancer.”I get that reaction a lot.“I’d let you in my cottage but you know, you might knife me or something nasty like that. Cottage yeah it’s a cottage not a scary fortress full of rattling skeletons. Then again come on in, you don’t look as though you could kill me, practically shaking as you are. Plus it’s been so long since I have had a visitor.”A guest a guest a guest how wonderful!“Mind your step and do not get too disturbed by those jars on the shelf.”A small piece of apparatus is all those pickled fingers are. Actually more of a souvenir from a rotting corpse that didn’t quite make it when I was starting out my career.“Go on through to the main seating room there are no peculiar jars in there, honest. I’ll just nip to the kitchen and fetch a jug of lemon water. Everyone likes lemon water.”Lemon water yeah yeah. Scared of me is he? Ha. Why do people come here scared all the time? Where are those lemons? You don’t have any do you? No I don’t. Gees now I’m talking to myself. Plain water it’ll have to be then. Jug jug jug. A little dusty, well that’s because it hasn’t been used in so long. Who needs a jug when drinking on your own? Unless you’re a fat git haha. Right yes think I shall give my guest some bread and butter too. That would be very hospitable.Oh would you look at him, cowering in his chair as though I am going to slit his throat. I hold up the water jug and give it a friendly shake in his direction while producing a small smile, maybe that’s all it will take for someone to smile in return. Forced! He forces a return smile, the nerve of him. I would rather he did not even bother rather than give me false gestures. Keep cool, keep cool, you can do this. Be civil, give him his refreshments then point him in the direction away from my cottage of horrors.“You never told me your name,” I say on placing the jug onto a sturdy wooden table, complete with black roses in a jar.“It’s err Sandy,” he stumbles.“I’m Arian but of course you probably already knew that, me being famous and all in these parts.”“I’m sorry I never knew this was your forest.”“A slight misconception there, I do not own the forest, I merely live here.”Live here because I would get run out of the nearby towns and villages.Ah silence. The only sound this cottage is used to. Sweet sweet, bitter silence. I pour some water into two cups and hand one over to my jittery guest. The smile wants to crumble away as Sandy’s hands fiddle round with the cup as he eyes the contents up, wondering if I have poisoned the water. That sure would be an idea maybe I am starting to regret not doing, or would regret so if I knew the first thing about poison. I clamp my mouth shut with my own now false smile.“What is your profession?”“I’m a carpenter.”Oh an honest profession indeed. Bravo bravo. The cup is on the table, water forgotten. My hands... أقل